Then & Now & Then

Back then, what you had was padalan or pasali, Bikol words for the more familiar Filipino term palabas. This referred to any film showing in the small barangay where you grew up.

This included the comedy flick Max & Jess featuring Panchito and Dolphy shown one summer afternoon in your grade school’s Industrial Arts building. It was probably led by your mother, who was then in charge of raising funds for the school’s non-formal education.

The movie was shown using a projector which flashed the film reel to a very big white mantel probably borrowed from your grandmother’s kitchen collection locked in the platera of the dakulang harong in the libod. The tickets were probably sold at P1.50 each for two features that provided some three hours of quality entertainment to your barrio folk.

There was also the health documentary sponsored by the Ministry of Health top-biled by then Minister Alfredo Bengzon, who gave out health advisories for the barangays. This was in the early 80s before Marcos stepped out of Malacañang. When it was shown in the Triangle, the open barangay hall, it rained heavily, much to the chagrin of some barangay folks who just went home disappointed. The others who did not leave the show made do with umbrellas and raincoats. But back then, the big telon was enough for them to get hooked: talk of being able to watch something on a big screen once in a blue moon. The documentary featured practices that can be adopted by the barangay folk to avoid diarrhea and dysentery, diseases that can be acquired from unsanitary and unhygienic toilet practices.

Then, there were the nightly treats of Betamax showing on black and white and later colored TV monitors in three key areas in the barangay.

There was one in the house of the Molata family which catered to the Baybay and Iraya residents. There, movies were shown inside the cramped sala of the Molatas, which was just inside their big retail store.

Bruce Lee

There was also the one owned by Tiyo Magno San Andres, a distant relative of your parents, who would clear his own bodega of grains and household supplies to make space for the nightly flicks of Bruce Lee, Dante Varona or Ramon Revilla, among many others. But you hardly had the chance to get in there, probably because you already enjoyed the free entry in your relatives’ “bigger movie house.”

This was your Auntie Felia’s bodega movie house where mostly new tapes were shown nightly for the entertainment of the barangay. Used as warehouse for copra transported in your Uncle Harben’s 10-wheeler truck from Tinambac to Naga, that place was in fact the biggest movie house because it could house 75 moviegoers or more at one time, particularly when it had no copra.

Yet, from time to time, moviegoers also sat on top of copra sacks even piled 10 times high while they revelled in Redford White’s antics or Cachupoy’s capers, or while they were kept alive and awake till midnight, enjoying the burugbugan or suruntukan in the movies of Fernando Poe, Jr., Rudy Fernandez, Rey Malonzo or George Estregan and a host of many other action stars. Talk of orchestra and balcony seating at the time.

Aside from the word-of-mouth shared by folks in the barangay, the nightly flicks were announced having their titles written  in chalk on your cousin’s green Alphabet Board displayed in front of their two-storey house just in front of Triangle, which for a long time served as the barangay market.

There was a time when the Acuñas’ bodega served as the official theater for the barangay, catering to the nightly entertainment of the folks—sometimes families (parents and children)—from Baybay to Pantalan and from Tigman and Banat, two bigger sitios situated at the two opposite ends from the Triangle.

When new tapes were brought in for the same movie house, you could expect a Standing Room Only; therefore, you could expect to be uncomfortable being seated or haggling for an inch of space with children your age, some of them even smelling rich of kasag (crabs).

Baad taga-Baybay ta parong-parong pang marhay an pinamanggihan. Linabunan na kasag tapos dai palan nagdamoy. (Probably from Sitio Baybay who had boiled crabs for supper and forgot to wash their hands afterwards.) Nom!

Among others, the Acuña movie house had the most strategic location, serving as the hub where most of the residents converged.

But that movie house would serve the barangay but only up to the time when your folks decided to settle and stay more permanently in the city. The kids, you and your cousins, were all growing up or had to grow up—so some things had to go. Besides, the place had only gotten smaller. (But certainly it was you who had grown bigger.) 

You had been initiated to the world of the movies at a very young age.

Growing up in that small barangay with all these movies you saw, you readily recall the pictures in your head: The loud and bright colors of the characters in Max & Jess, inspired from a komiks cartoon, only complemented the loud mouths of Dolphy and Panchito who raved and ranted against each other all throughout the movie.

There was also the sepia appearance of the Ministry of Health’s documentary flashed on the barangay telon, which only made it look like a news reel further back from the 1960s. You realize now that it was rather a mockumentary because at the time people were being taught on health practices under the rain, which had only ironically endangered their health.

And of course, the many varied colors in the smaller screen of your relatives where you probably saw—through the movies—all the worlds possible.

Now what readily comes to mind? You had the medieval heroine Hundra, which featured axing and butchering of warriors and amazons for most of the film; and the sharp colors of the characters in the animation Pete’s Dragon, which you must have watched with your cousins a hundred times only because unlike the rented copies used for the nightly showing, this was an original Betamax tape sent by the Acuña relatives from the United States.

There was also the flying dog in the Never-Ending Story; and the cyborgs in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator.

And of course there was the wave of melodramas favored by the women in your household probably because most of them were tearjerkers—from Dina Bonnevie’s Magdusa Ka to Maricel Soriano’s Pinulot Ka Lang sa Lupa to Jaypee de Guzman’s Mga Batang Yagit to Helen Gamboa’s Mundo Man Ay Magunaw, and a hundred other (melo)dramas.

These were the movies peopled by characters you would remember; characters whom you would, every now and then, find or seek in others; characters whom you would, in later years, see yourself become.

Back then, you got to enjoy a movie and even memorize the scenes in it only because it came once in a blue moon, as it were.

You always looked forward to one weekend when your parents would bring you all to watch the latest release in Bichara Theater in downtown Naga.

The whole week you looked forward to that Saturday or Sunday they promised because it surely would come with a date at the Naga Restaurant where you would be treated to bowls of steaming asado mami and toasted or steamed siopao—not to mention a probable new pair of shoes or a cool shirt from Zenco Footstep or Sampaguita Department Store.

But now, you have already brought home an audio-visual entertainment. You will watch a movie from your USB to your LCD TV, full HD, complete with the frills of the latest technology. Now the movie is only yours to play—and play back again and again and again, as many times as you like.

Back then, if you liked some scene in the film which you’d liked to watch again, you’d have to wait till the next feature so you would wait until you spend some three more hours inside the theater. But now, you won’t worry anymore. With your latest downloaded movie flashing on your 40” LCD screen, you can freeze that scene and relish the drama or action—complete with subtitles—to your heart’s content.

Back then, watching a movie was something to talk about with your siblings or cousins when you got back from the city. Now, watching a Torrentzed film from your USB drive is what you can only do because it would be so hard for you to talk to them who are thousands of cities away from where you are.

Songs of Ourselves

Words and Music through Love and Life

Part 2 of Series

Manoy Awel, our eldest brother, has had the biggest influence in each of us, his younger siblings. 

While brothers Ano and Alex strutted their way to get us equally break-dancing to Michael Jackson and his local copycats in the 1980s, Manoy’s influence in the rest of us, his siblings, is indispensable. Being the eldest, Manoy held the “official” possession of Mother’s pono (turntable) like the two Stone Tablets, where the songs being played later became the anthems among the siblings. 

On this portable vinyl record player, every one of us came to love the acoustic Trio Los Panchos, Mother’s favorite whose pieces did not sound different from her aunt, Lola Charing’s La Tumba number which she would sing during family reunions. 

In those days, Manoy would play Yoyoy Villame’s rpms alternately with (Tarzan at) Baby Jane’s orange-labeled “Ang Mabait Na Bata.” But it was the chorus from Neoton Familia’s “Santa Maria” which registered in my memory, one which chased me up to my high school years. 

Manoy’s pono music would last for a while until the time when there would be no way to fix it anymore. A story has been repeatedly told of how Manoy dropped the whole box when he was returning (or maybe retrieving) it from the tall cabinet where it was kept out of our reach. Here it is best to say that I remember these things only vaguely, having been too young to even know how to operate the turntable. 

Since then, we had forgotten already about the pono, as each of us, through the years, has gone one by one to Naga City to pursue high school and college studies.  

One day in November of 1987, Supertyphoon Sisang came and swept over Bicol. At the time, I was still in Grade 6 staying with Mother and brother Ano in our house in Banat; while my brothers and my sister were all studying in Naga.

The whole night, Sisang swooped over our house like a slavering monster, and in the words of our grandmother Lola Eta, garo kalag na dai namisahan (one condemned soul). The day before, we secured our house by closing our doors and windows. But the following morning, the jalousies were almost pulverized; the walls made of hardwood were split open; and the roofs taken out. But our house still stood among the felled kaimito, sampalok and santol trees across the yard.

Among other things, I remember brother Ano retrieving our thick collection of LP vinyl records. Most if not all of them were scratched, chipped and cracked. In a matter of one day, our vinyl records had been soaked and were rendered unusable. Ano, who knew art well ever since I could remember, cleaned them up one by one, salvaged whatever was left intact, and placed those on walls as decors. 

The 45 rpms and the LP circles looked classic like elements fresh out of a 1950s art deco. On the walls of our living room now were memories skillfully mounted for everyone’s recollection. And there they remained for a long time.

By this time, Mother had already bought a Sanyo radio cassette player which later became everyone’s favorite pastime.

Soon, Manoy would be glued to cassette tapes that he would regularly bring in the records of the 1980s for the rest of us. The eighties was a prolific era—it almost had everything for everyone. Perhaps because we did not have much diversion then, we listened to whatever Manoy listened to. On his boombox, Manoy played Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode, Heart, Sade, America and Tears for Fears, among a million others. Of course, this “million others” would attest to how prolific the 80s was.

In those days, Manoy recorded songs while they were played on FM radio stations. It was his way of securing new records; or producing his own music. Then he would play it for the rest of us. Music was Manoy’s way of cheering the household up—he played music when he would cook food—his perennial assignment at home was to cook the dishes for the family. 

Manoy loved to play music loud anytime and every time so that Mother would always tell him to turn the volume down. Most of the time, Manoy played it loud—so that we, his siblings, his captured audience in the household, could clearly hear the words and the melodies, cool and crisp.

While Mother and Manoy would always have to discuss about what to do about his loud records playing, we, the younger ones, would learn new sensibilities from the new sounds which we heard from the sound-box. We did not only sing along with the songs being played; we also paraded nuances from them which we made for and among ourselves. Out of the tunes being played and heard, we made a lot of fun; and even cherished some of them.

When we were very young, I remember hearing a cricket when Manoy played America’s “Inspector Mills” every night, which lulled my sister Nene and me to sleep. Nene and I asked him to play it all over again because we would like to hear the cricket again and again in the said song. (Later, I would be aware that it’s not only a cricket but also a police officer reporting over the radio.)

During those nights, Mama was expected to arrive late because she worked overtime at her father’s house that hosted Cursillo de Cristianidad classes, a three-day retreat seminar which the family committed to sponsor for the barangay Bagacay through the years.

Sometimes, it was just fine even if Mother was not there when we slept. At times, we knew she wouldn’t be able to return home for that weekend, so we were lulled to sleep in Manoy’s bed listening to America and his other easy-listening music. Because he played these songs for us, the lonely nights without Mother in our house were made bearable by Manoy Awel. 

When Manoy was not around or when I was left alone in the house, I would go to his room and play his records to my heart’s content. Because he would leave his other records at home, I equally devoured them without his knowledge. None of his mixed tapes escaped my scrutiny.

Through the years, Manoy would later be collecting boxes of recorded songs and later even sorting them according to artists and genres. 

 One day, I saw these recorded tapes labeled “Emmanuel” on one side and “Mary Ann” on the other. It wouldn’t be long when I learned that Manoy had found his better half, his own B side—in the person of Manay Meann, his future wife. 

Exaggerations

Sa puro nin muro

Nagliwanag an altar

Asin sa samong atubang

Nagtindog an Pading Halangkaw

Binasa an Ebanghelio kan Aldaw:

“Sa ulo ng mga nagbabagang balita.

This Bikol poem titled “Ritwal” written by Bikol poet Frank Peñones, Jr. presents our disappointment from watching news TV nowadays.

At the tip of one’s fingertips, the screen lights up when he presses the machine’s button.  Then before the TV audience, the “high priest” stands and declares the reading of the “gospel of the day”: he starts reading the news.

Comparing news to the Daily Gospel spells the effectiveness of Peñones’s poem, perfectly mocking the reality how we the audience treat television with deference. But just as the audience considers news as gospel truth, Peñones’s reduces television to a ritualistic and routine endeavor, with both hosts and audience transformed into automatons.

And when the media high priest declares that what he has is “nagbabagang balita” (scorching hot news), the “ritual” is further reduced to exaggeration. It’s card-stacking and plain propaganda at its best.

It is tragic how television nowadays becomes the site of exaggerations of the real thing—and not as sensible avenue for critical thinking by the audience.

In particular, there is much pretense in how TV news anchors in this country convey information to the public.

Consider Mike Enriquez and Noli de Castro. These two—whom others now call institutions—tend to sensationalize every piece of information that their production team has prepared in the very manner they express it to the public.

First, Enriquez wins awards for his broadcasting style. I do not know why. But Mike Enriquez’s newscasting is pure exaggeration. He speaks so rapidly to the extent that it is only he who understands what he is saying. In a sense, you are rather only entertained—and not sensibly informed— by his presence.

In his every single appearance on news television, he seems to be eating his own words—but honestly, he sounds like a character in a comedy movie who rather mocks newscasting. More honestly now, he reminds me of Steve Carrell’s character in the Jim Carrey movie Bruce Almighty.

Enriquez should go back to his speech classes so he might as well observe slashes and double slashes when reading something. He needs to pause; and stop. So he can best be understood.

For his part, Noli de Castro has always sounded inflated all these years. In the poem stated earlier, Peñones is referring to Noli De Castro whose “Magandang Gabi, Bayan” augured well for the Filipino audience. And, well, as a consequence of his public identity, he became the country’s vice-president.

De Castro’s loud, imposing voice reading the country’s daily news gets our attention only because he reads the news with some kind of wild energy, making any serious item sound so utterly tragic and even a rather simple piece of information sounds very serious.

While it is good that he should project some verve, the right energy in reading out the information to the public, doing so in a pretentiously serious manner (as if it’s in critical condition) does not help the viewer much in sifting information for their own purpose.

The same thing is true in the case of other national newscasters including Ted Failon, Mel Tiangco and Korina Sanchez. What are they rushing for, anyway? Did the TV moguls ask them to read five or more news articles in 2 minutes or even less, so as to accommodate more advertisements in between their newscast? Okay.

When read by these newsmen, the daily news becomes so nerve-racking and tense. And upsetting. They may be tasked to heighten the public’s sense or awareness on social issues, but what they really do is to seem to always shock the audience even when the kind of information being relayed is otherwise lighthearted or even trivial.

Arnold Clavio, Vicky Morales, Paolo Bediones and others on primetime news TV can benefit from listening to how their forerunners really sound so ridiculous. They should not wait for the time that they themselves would be reading news at the rate of 1,000 words per minute only to rake ratings [when their time comes to be the leading news anchors]. But if they also do, by then they will have begun an era in which speed, not sensible information—is the mere yardstick of newscasting.

Can't they look to how news anchors over BBC, CNN or Australian TV appear poker-faced and sound composed even when reporting major news stories to the rest of the world? To these journalists, it is clear that their purpose is to simply convey information to the public without much sentiment so as to allow the audience to feel the thing—or sift the issue from the information—themselves. We can only admire how field reporters from across the world feeding news into big networks appear totally unruffled despite being situated in battlefields or calamity-stricken areas. 

Back in our country, with the way these news anchors race past each other—pataasan ng boses, making news and events appear that they matter even when they really don’t, it appears that TV networks only rally against each other to rake ratings for themselves.

The terms “News and Public Affairs” suck because all the networks care about is profit—each second on airtime is profit. It’s still the economics at the end of the day.

Orog Nang Gayo Su Nangangaipo

Edvard Munch [1863-1944], "Scream," 1893

Ba’guhon an pirmi mo nang ginigibo. Sarong pambato sa sobrang pagha’dit iyo an paghali kan pagkalangkag.

Mag-relax. Planuhon an mga ulubrahon kag sundon an tinalaan kun nuarin matatapos an mga ini. Gibuhon muna an mga dapat na enoton. Magtagama nin panahon sa trabaho; magtagama nin panahon sa kalingawan.

Magpakalingaw. Magtagama nin dugang na panahon para sa kalingaan na igwang kamanungdanan.

Maging maogma. Ugalion na magkadlaw. Makakagian sa mga kagabatan an pagngisi—urog na kun makakadlawan mo an sadiri mong problema.

Magpanumdom sang mga bagay na nakakaogma. Dai pagrimposa an mga natabo’ na. Mag-isip nin magayon para subong kag sa kinaagahon.

Ipakipag-ulay sa iban nga tawo an imo nga problema. Dai ni madudula kun sasadirihon mo sana.

Dai mag-isip nin kun anu-ano. Orog na marhay na lingawan mo tulos an wa-ay pulos—kag ilista bala basta maninigo an mga ulubrahon na mapuslan.

Likayan an grabeng pagpanumdom pag-abot kan sinarom. Basta maninigo, dai na nanggad ribukon an isip pag-abot kan hapon o banggi. An sobrang pagpanumdom, o pagha’dit pagdatong kan oras na ini—laban-laban, makakapurisaw saimo, na orog na makakadugang sa imo nga paghina’dit.

Magturog nin bastante—makakapatibay ni kan imo nga lawas kag makakapabalik sang imo nga kusog kag mayad na pag-iisip.

Magtagama nin makatutubod na ma’wot mapangyari sa buhay mo. Digdi, kaipuhan mong midbid mo an sadiri mo. Huna-hunaon an ma’wot mong maabot pagkalihis kan saro, tulo, o lima ka tuig magpoon ngonyan. Tagamahan an sadiri kun nuarin maaagum an ma’wot na mapangyari.

"Pan'o Malilikayan An Sobrang Pagha'dit"

Sinurublian sa Hiligaynon [kag Espanyol] dangan Kahulugan kan Mga Ini sa Bikol

nga, conj. na

pambatô, n. pansagang, panlaban

ulubráhon, n. gigibuhon

kag, conj. sagkod, saka, tapos

kalingáwan, n. kalingaan

magpakálingáw, v. maglinga

kádlaw, v. ngisi

makakádlawan, v. mangingisihan

magpanúmdom, v. mag-isip, isipon

sang, conj. nin, kan

natabô, v. nangyari, natapos

kinaagáhon, n. (maabot na) aga

ibán, pron. iba

ímo, pron. saimo

madudulâ, v. mawawara, mahahali

kag, conj. sagkod, tapos, dangan

wa-áy, adj. mayo, dai

pulos, n. kamanungdanan, kabuluhan

balá, adv. really

mapuslán, adj. igwang kamanungdanan

pagpanumdom, n. pagparaisip

labán-labán, adv. magsala, poco mas o menos

bastante, adj. tama sa pangangaipo

mayád, adj. magayon, marahay, magayagaya

ka, conj. na,

maaagúm, v. makakamit, maaabot

Susog sa Nutritional Guidelines for Filipinos: Tagalog. Food and Nutrition Research Institute. Department of Science and Technology. 1991. World Health Organization. Regional Office for the Western Pacific. 

"Speak to us of teaching"

As a high school freshman back in 1988, I would relish looking at my test papers whenever examination papers were returned.  Today is a different story.

In my classes, my students would usually dread examinations, frown at their tests, scowl at the thought of their projects, and even cringe at the thought of a new lesson. The dissimilarity between the two eras is disconcerting. But teaching students these days brings in insights that reflect the tendencies and inclinations of the youth today and their possible future. 

Maybe what they say is true—it’s teacher factor, teacher factor. It’s how the teacher approaches the students with the subject matter. As far as teachers are concerned, they have been trying varied methodologies to approach the situation more eclectically to cater to the diversity of today’s students. 

The students today are not really as diverse as we think they are—they even come from the same lot—kids with very short attention spans who belong to the “remote-control or YouTube generation. They simply want the same thing—they would want to relax during class hours, relish doing nothing in the class during literature classes—etc. Simply because the media must have taught them that everything is attainable at the click of the remote control. 

Someone put it more aptly when he claimed that we cannot always point the finger at the school if there’s something wrong with the students—rather we must check society or the real world and all it has—because what’s wrong in our society makes everything wrong in education. The media and other social external influences have since defined the individual learner.

Because students come to classrooms from their own families, orientations and influences, the manner in which they behave in their classrooms point to the way they are bred and reared in their families. The levels of the education then and now are far from each other. Today’s schools may just be way far different from what schools were before.

True enough. Schools are the second homes—yet it is not the entire breeding ground of character. If homes are more powerful influences to the youth, what does the school have as its ace? The school just takes on where the family [or the sense of it] leaves. 

Nowadays when we hear elderly people whine and tell us, “Times have really changed. It was not like this in our time, blah blah (or something to that effect),” maybe they’re just making sense.

When you are a teacher, most probably, you are a more blessed worker. Despite the meager salary, now and then whined upon in bureaucratic circles and other work entities, your efforts as a teacher are usually paid off [or extremely otherwise shortchanged] the same day you put them forth. In the classroom, you are disposed to see how students display varied reactions about a certain topic. Their sparkling eyes will glow whenever they get a point clarified and learned. One of the joys of teaching is in being able to find for yourself how a student learns on his own and not through your own means.

Moreover, Aristotle said because we are what we repeatedly do—thus excellence is an act of habit. It is the habits that the teacher seeks to impart that matters most to the learner. It is in the way the teacher conducts himself or herself in front of the learning environment that will stick to the mind of the student who, impressionable as he is, will simply copy what he finds desirable or beneficial from his teacher.

Teaching traditions and lifestyles have already changed. Some teachers can get away with being Miss Tapia to their students. Others are becoming more open to democratic and eclectic ways of making the pupils and students learn. They attend seminars and numerous group dynamics to learn much about the styles that suit today’s learners—from their talents to their eccentricities. Therefore, a teacher is a continually challenged worker. He determines his own growth because he is at his own pacing as a learner.

Sadly, however, despite the monstrously large statistics of new teachers each year, the teaching profession may be an obsolete career—with the unceasing demand and supply for call center agents and domestic helpers. The latter jobs prove to be more lucrative and financially helpful. In fact, some teachers abandon teaching to be domestic helpers abroad just to support their families sensibly while they shell in foreign currencies for the government. 

One thing is clear, though. Teaching may not at all be far behind because in each child born to the world, someone out there will just have to make him see about life’s stark realities.

Utos ng Pari

Sa National Press Congress na itinaguyod ng Publishers Association of the Philippines, Inc. (PAPI) sa Hyatt Regency at Ambassador Hotel sa Maynila noong 2003—halos isang dekada na ang nakalilipas—nakatawag ng aking pansin ang keynote address ng batikanong mediaman na si Fr. James Reuter, S.J., isang paring Heswitang nakapaglingkod na sa bayan nang halos anim nang dekada.

Binigyang diin ni Reuter ang value o pagpapahalaga ng tao sa kanyang sarili. Ani Reuter, ang value ng world sa ngayon ay “take”—lahat ng ginagawa ng tao sa kasalukuyan ay puro pansarili lamang. Sa halip, hinamon ng paring Heswita ang mga taga-mediang tingnan ang value ng gospel—o ang value ng “give.” Wala nang ibang tumpak na halimbawa ang pagpapahalagang ito kundi ang kahulugan ng Christmas—o ang pagsilang ng Mesias sa mundong makasalanan.

Malugod na naging makabuluhan ang panayam ito nang mag-react ang mga media audience sa open forum pagkatapos ng lecture ni Reuter. Nang tinanong si Reuter ng isang peryodista tungkol sa ano ang pwede niyang gawin laban sa paglaganap ng mga smut publications sa paligid, mariin ang tugon nitong itigil ang paglathala ng mga bold pictures ng mga babae sa mga tabloid. Subalit tulad ng inaasahan, halong reaksyon ang sumalubong sa opinyon ng pari.

Base sa mga diskusyon ng mga peryodista, hati ang kanilang paninindigan sa usaping ito. Kampante na ang ibang mamamahayag sa pagbasura ng ganitong uri ng publikasyon. Sa kabilang dako, ang mungkahing ito ay hindi ganoon kapraktikal sa mga peryodistang diumano’y “nabubuhay” sa paglathala ng nasabing materyal dahil sila ay mga publishers ng mga ito.

Nang hinamon ng paring Heswita ang mga tagamedia na pag-ibayuhin ang value ng Gospel—“give” o maging mapagbigay sa Kristiyanong sense nito, hinamon niya na rin ang sensibilidad ng bawat peryodistang dumalo sa komperensya. Gaano ba kahanda ang mga Pilipinong mamamahayag sa hamong ito?

Ano na nga ba ang value ng media sa kasalukuyan? Ilan pa nga bang mga mamamahayag ang nagtatrabaho tungo sa kabutihan, tungo sa masasabing moral na kamalayan o pagkatao?

Harapin natin ang kasalukuyang katotohanan—iba ang sinasabi ng realidad sa idinidikta ng moralidad. Hindi natin nakikita sa tunay na buhay ang mga retorikang ibinibandilyo ng mga pangulong-tudling sa mga peryodiko, ang sinasabing kaluluwa ng pahayagan, na siya ring makapagsasabi rin tungkol sa kaluluwa ng may-ari ng pahayagan.

Ang sagot sa ganitong tanong ay magpapakakilala atin sa sa dalawang uri ng mamamahayag na Pilipino. Narito ang dilema na sinasabi ng buhong na peryodista. Kung ang isang pahayagan ay nabibili dahil may mga hubad na babae ito sa cover, ano ang mangyayari kung aalisin mo ang mga come-on elements na ito. Wala bang ibang choice ang publisher maliban dito? Hindi pa maaaring mabili ang isang peryodiko kung walang Sam Pinto o Christine Reyes na nakabuyangyang sa cover?

Subalit narito naman ang sagot ng pwede nating sabihing endangered nang journalist. Aniya, maaari ka namang makapaghikayat ng mambabasa sa iyong pahayagan kung ito’y hitik sa impormasyon, pagsisiyasat at analisis ng mga isyung nakakaapekto sa general public. Napagkasunduan din doon na walang ibang pang-akit ang isang matinong pahayagan kundi ang pagiging puno nito ng kaaalaman para sa mambabasa. Marahil ay hindi naman lubhang kailangan ng mambabasa ang sex—maliban na lang kung ang isang pamayanan ay isang sibilisasyon ng mga perverts o sex addicts.

Anila, there is more to publication come-on than sex. Mas magiging mabenta ang pahayagang puno ng makabuluhang isyu at analisis ng mga isyu. Halimbawa na lang, mas magugustuhan ng mga mambabasa ang kopya ng pahayagang hindi niya ikahihiyang basahin sa loob ng MRT dahil wala itong starlets na  malagkit na nakakatitig sa parehong lalaki at babaeng pasaherong nakakaangkas ng mambabasa sa tren. Kailangan lang na ma-educate nang maayos ang mga mambabasa.

Nang sinabi ni Reuter na ang media ang pinakamakapangyarihan instrumento para magturo nang matino sa sangkatauhan, nakita kong hinamon ni Reuter ang bawat mediaman na tingnan ang kanyang sariling bakuran—at simulant niyang walisin ang lugar na yaon—tipunin ang kalat at dumi palabas ng kanyang sariling tugsaran. Sa huli, nakakaawa ang mambabasang tinuturuan ng media ng katotohanan kung ang mga katotohanang kanilang isinasaalang-alang ay iyong mga makapagpapababa ng kanilang pagkatao.

Know thyself, ika nga ng isang dakilang Griyego ng makaunang panahon. Ang mga klasikong kamalayang tulad nito ang gagabay sa atin para suriin ang ating sariling sensibilidad sa ating mga ginagawa sa kasalukuyan. Sa ganyang paraan laman natin masasabing tayo’y mga stewards ng katotohanan. At dahil diyan, tayo’y higit na magiging karapatdapat na basahin ng sangkatauhan.