Where are the figures?

Either acting Commission on Elections (Comelec) chairman Christian Lim does not have the actual figures to support his claim that vote-buying incidents increased in 2013, or he’s more into giving knee-jerk generalizations.  Over the weekend, Lim claimed that because politicians were at their wits’ ends on how to tamper with the results of automated elections, they resorted to more vote-buying in the 2013 polls.

That’s a logical conclusion for any Tom, Dick and Harry to make, but for someone who was just named acting chief of the Comelec, I expected Lim to have done his homework first  before making this pronouncement to media. He should have come up with comparative  figures on the incidents of vote-buying during the last manual election  and the succeeding automated polls.

At the very least, Lim could have cited a number of government officials elected in 2013 whose seats were forfeited on account of over-spending and whose forfeiture, at least in one instance, was upheld by a ruling of the Supreme Court.  If not anipso facto proof of vote-buying, overspending by an electoral candidate suggests he or she was ready and willing to get any advantage over a rival by any means possible.

I, likewise, do not subscribe to the view that the passing of a “money ban” law prohibiting the withdrawal of P100,000 per day and the transport of over P500,000 in a span of six days before election day could put into effect a similar ban shot down by the SC in the May 2013 mid-term polls. Such a law, I think, would be declared unconstitutional because it would run counter to many provisions of our organic law that gives our people the freedom to trade goods and do commerce.

Since when did economic activities grind to a halt or slow down on account of the elections? The Comelec must be more creative in going after election cheats than reviving or floating the revival of silly notions like that of a money ban.

                                      -end-



Image by The Guardian                                                                          

‘Terima kasih,’ Indonesia

Indonesian President Joko Widodo went out on a limb for the Philippines when he ordered a last-minute stay on the execution of Mary Jane Veloso.

It was the first time Widodo granted a reprieve to a convicted drug dealer since he assumed office last year and launched the campaign to stop drug trafficking in his country. The reason he cited to justify the reprieve—to enable Veloso to testify against drug rings operating in Indonesia—does not, strictly speaking, constitute newly found evidence that would warrant such action.

It probably helped that President Aquino talked to Indonesia’s foreign minister, a woman, about this and she passed on the idea to Widodo before Veloso could be tied to the firing stake.

Although Veloso’s death sentence has not been lifted, Widodo did the Philippines a favor when he gave her an indefinite lease on life.

Earlier, he rejected the appeals of Australia and Brazil to grant clemency to their citizens who, like Veloso, have been convicted for drug trafficking.

If the investigation that Veloso is set to get involved in shows she was an unwitting victim of a drug ring, or information vital to Indonesia’s anti-drug-trafficking campaign is discovered, Widodo may be persuaded to reduce her sentence to life imprisonment.

In the days after Veloso’s execution was put on hold, I scanned The Jakarta Post, the most widely read English-language newspaper in Indonesia, to find out the Indonesians’ reaction to their president’s unprecedented move.

The commentaries and letters to the editor in the broadsheet did not express strong adverse reaction to the reprieve despite the fact that an Indonesian was also executed on the day Veloso was supposed to suffer the same fate.

The Indonesian people probably empathize with Veloso because many Indonesian women, like Filipino women, work as domestic helpers in different parts of the world.

The liberal treatment Widodo extended to Veloso did not come to me as a surprise. The friendship between the Philippines and Indonesia stands on a high level. On several occasions, Indonesia assisted the Philippines in its advocacies in Asean.

On a personal note, I have noticed an almost spontaneous camaraderie between Filipinos and Indonesians in regional and international business conferences. This rapport may be attributed to our common Malay stock, and the similarity in political and social problems that our countries have gone through. It also helps that certain words in Bahasa, the Indonesian language, and Filipino have the same meaning.

From experience, it’s easier to make friends with Indonesians than with Singaporeans who tend to be standoffish on account of their advanced economic development, or with Malaysians who consider themselves the poster boy of Islamic wealth in Asia, or with Thais whose unique ethnic and cultural upbringing sometimes makes it difficult for them to relate to their neighbors.

This ease of friendship often results in Filipinos and Indonesians spending time together after the end of official business activities, seeming to share a love for friendly banter over good food and refreshing drinks.

I experienced what I consider my ultimate test of Indonesian friendship sometime in the late 1990s when then Indonesian President Suharto was ousted from power and mobs of angry youth roamed the business district of Jakarta.

There was an anti-West frenzy at that time. Foreigners were advised by the authorities to stay off the streets and avoid contact with roaming antigovernment protesters.

The hotel in which I was staying asked all non-Indonesian guests to leave and go to the Soekarno-Hatta International Airport to catch flights out of the country.

Arrangements were made for soldiers to escort the hotel vans taking the guests to the airport. For security reasons, the Asian guests did not ride with the Westerners.

Due to the chaos in the streets, some vehicles got cut off from the military escort, and the passengers were left to fend for themselves.

Small youth groups brandishing sticks and machetes banged on the vehicles’ windows, demanding that the passengers show their passports.

Holders of American and European passports were jeered at and, if not for the timely intervention of the hotel security staff on board, would have been dragged out of the vehicles. It was a very scary and dangerous situation.

There were three other Filipinos in the van I rode. When we showed our passports, the youths who accosted us smiled and shouted, “Filipino, Filipino, OK, OK!” They motioned to their companions who were blocking the van to let us through.

The other guests we rode with, whose nationalities I didn’t get to know or even thought of asking because of the tense situation, profusely thanked us, having benefited from the goodwill the Indonesian showed us.

After 30 agonizing minutes, we got to the airport and boarded our flights out of Jakarta. Never had a Philippine passport been so valuable to me than at that time.

Going back to Veloso’s case, the reprieve is a small victory, if not a miracle. We do not know how things will finally play out.

If the leftists and Vice President Jejomar Binay are to be believed, everyone except President Aquino should be given credit for saving Veloso from the gallows for the time being. In my book, the longstanding good relations between Filipinos and Indonesians made a big difference in Widodo’s decision to give Veloso a new lease on life.

Terima kasih (Thank you), Indonesia, for this latest and past favors. We hope we can reciprocate your goodwill in the future. -end-

Commentary:

Raul Palabrica 

Philippine Daily Inquirer

Aliping saguiguilid

It’s a crying shame that some of the biggest industries in the Philippines are also the most exploitative of Filipino labor, especially those family-run companies that rake in billions and billions of pesos each year from the retail shopping sector.

With vast fortunes that already ensure that they and their children’s children would live every single day of their pampered lives in luxury, you’d think the captains of these industries would develop some real, honest-to-goodness philanthropy in their hearts that goes beyond throwing crumbs to their favorite charities.

Sad but true that the list of the richest men and women in the Philippines can very well pass off as a list of the most stone-cold hearted people who force their workers to live a hand-to-mouth existence, without job security and while moving like rats from contract to contract every six months.

As we mark Labor Day, let it be said that the contractualization of the Philippine labor force is the worst thing that ever happened in our country; it is far worse than Marcos’ martial law or the five years of Japanese occupation of the Philippines during World War II.

To see one’s youth wasted on temporary jobs bereft of the most basic medical and social security, and jobs that provide starvation pay is far more damaging to the psyche of Filipinos who see the new breed of Hispanic (the Ayalas, and the Zobels) and Chinese (the Sys, Gokongwei’s) illustrados as their slave masters.

Just over a hundred years removed from Jose Rizal, the majority of Filipinos wallowing in abject poverty continues to live as aliping saguiguilid. The only difference now is that the new slaves wear long-sleeves and spit-shined shoes for men and A-cut skirts and blouses and heels for women. -end-

Death penalty in Indonesia: an executioner’s story

  As Indonesia prepares to execute up to 11 prisoners, including two Australians, a Brazilian and a Nigerian national, amid international uproar, the spotlight has been thrown on the use of the death penalty in the country. There are dozens more prisoners on death row and the government has declared there will be no mercy for those convicted of drug offences, meaning more executions are likely.

   The Guardian has spoken to a police officer who has been part of the firing squad which operates on the prison island, Nusa Kambangan. His story is one that reveals the grim reality of Indonesia’s justice system but also the conflicting emotions of those responsible for upholding it.

Pulling the trigger is the easy part, the officer says as he contemplates the executions which are to come.

    The worst part is the human touch, he says, the connection with those who are about to die. The executioner has to lace the prisoner’s limbs, hands and feet to a cross-shaped pole with thick rope. It is that final moment of brutal intimacy that haunts.

   “The mental burden is heavier for the officers that are responsible for handling the prisoners rather than shooting them,” he says. “Because those officers are involved in picking them up, and tying their hands together, until they are gone.” The officer – a young man who wanted to remain anonymous because of the sensitivity of his role – is part of a wing of the Indonesian police corps known as the Mobile Brigade (“Brimob”). The brigade carries out the executions on top of its regular duties. They are not full-time executioners but rather special police officers assigned to the job.

    They are paid less than $100 on top of their existing salary to carry out their grim task. The officer spoke exclusively to the Guardian, describing the bleakest moments of what he called “his job”, of being the last person to touch the prisoner just moments before they are “released from life”.

The act of execution happens in a jungle-skirted clearing on the prison island of Nusa Kambangan. One team is assigned to escort and shackle the prisoners, a second team is the firing squad. This officer has been on both of those teams.

  “We see the person close up, from when they are alive and talking, until they die,” he said. “We know it [that moment] precisely.”  Five Brimob officers are assigned to each prisoner, to escort them from the isolation cells in the middle of the night and accompany them to the clearing. The officer says prisoners can “decide if they want to cover their face” before they are tied up to make sure their heart or the position of their body does not move. Moments before, the prisoner has the option to seek religious counsel. 

   Using a thick rope known as “tali tambang” in Indonesian, the officer says he avoids speaking to the prisoners when he binds their hands behind their back and onto the poles, kneeling or standing as they wish, but that he treats the prisoners gently. “I don’t make conversation with the prisoners. I treat them like they are a member of my own family,” he explains, “I say only, ‘I’m sorry, I am just doing the job.’ He says that by the time he escorts the prisoners from their cells to the clearing “they are resigned to their fate, as though it was written like lines on their palm”.

  These may be the last steps that Andrew Chan, 31, and Myuran Sukumaran, 33, will follow, sentenced to death for their part in the Bali Ninetrafficking ring. Eight other death-row inmates, also dressed in white and blindfolded if they choose, will be lined up and shot simultaneously. In the darkness of the night a torch will shine onto a circle, 10 centimetres in diameter, drawn over their hearts.

   The firing squad, made up of 12 Brimob officers, will be five to 10 metres away and will shoot their M16s when given the order. Only some of the officers will have live rounds so they never know who fires the fatal shot. Officers are chosen for the firing squad based on their shooting ability and mental and physical fitness. But what emerged from the Guardian’s interview is a complicated portrait of a man who is both a pragmatic killer and reluctant executioner, who hopes he will be forgiven for what he has done. Of being part of the firing squad, the officer describes the experience with detachment.

  “We just come in, grab the weapon, shoot, and wait for the dying to finish. Once the ‘bam’ of the gun we wait 10 minutes, if the doctor pronounces him dead then we return, that’s about it.” The weapons are placed in position for the officers before the execution of the few executions the officer has been involved in, each has gone according to plan. “It doesn’t take more than five minutes to be over,” he said. After they are shot he says: “They go limp directly, because there is no life.” A doctor examines the prisoners to determine whether they are dead. If the prisoner is not dead, a designated officer is told to shoot them at close range in the head.

   The bodies are then transported to a place where they are bathed and placed in coffins and treated according to their respective religious tradition. Describing the execution process the officer said he sees his role as simply doing his duty, “just carrying out orders based on law” regardless of whether he believes in the death penalty or not. “I am bound by my oath as a soldier,” he said. “The prisoner violated the law and we are carrying out a command. We are just the executors. The question of whether it is sin or not is up to God.” 

   That responsibility, he said, also rests with his Brimob superiors. Considering his involvement and whether he is disturbed by the memories of the executions the officer says that it is best not revisited. “Whatever happened we don’t bring it up again because that is the experience of being in Brimob,” he says.

   After performing the execution the officers undergo three days of classes that include spiritual guidance and psychological assistance. And there’s a limit to the number of executions an officer can take. “If we do the executions once or twice it is not a problem, but if we have to do it many times we will certainly be subject to psychological problems,” he said.

   Speaking recently to the Jakarta Post, the Brimob’s chief, Brigadier General Robby Kaligis – who was part of the firing squad in the 1980s – acknowledges the psychological strain on his officers. “The shooting is the easiest part. It’s much harder to ensure that they are mentally prepared,” he says. And of the dark memories, the Brimob chief tells the paper: “I don’t want to remember that part of my life. We need to focus on the present and the future.”

   Indonesia’s president, Joko Widodo, has said he will not grant clemency to any inmate on death row for drug-related charges, meaning dozens more are in line for the firing squad. But the Brimob officer who has already taken part in several executions says he is reluctant to be involved in any more.

  “I hope that I won’t have to keep doing this indefinitely. There are some 50 people on death row so it could be my turn to execute again,” he says. “I’m not that happy doing it … If there are other soldiers, let them do it.” One day he hopes he “will not remember these moments” and prays that like the people he has executed, he too will have some solace, in this life, or the next. “I hope the prisoners rest in peace,” he says. “I hope I do too.” -end-

Half-empty or half-full?

You would think that with the country experiencing better-than-expected economic growth of around 7 percent—the second best in the Asian region after China—the majority of Filipinos would be depositing part of their hard-earned money in the banking system.  

But as shown by a recent World Bank report, seven out of 10 all Filipinos remain outside the influence of the formal financial system. According to the latest edition of the World Bank Global Findex, only 31.3 percent of Filipino adults have an account in financial institutions such as banks, cooperatives or microfinance entities.

The Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas (BSP), however, does not see the situation as half-empty, or more precisely, two-thirds empty. Its records show that  over 3 million new accounts were opened between 2011 and 2014. This means that in three years’ time, the number of account holders increased from 26.6 percent in 2011.    

Still, despite the rise in the number of bank-account holders, the Philippines falls behind other countries in Southeast Asia, ranking fifth of eight countries in the region.

In Southeast Asia, Singapore has the highest number of bank-account holders, at 96 percent, followed by Malaysia at 81 percent, Thailand at 78 percent, and Indonesia at 36 percent.

       

The Philippines tied with Vietnam at 31 percent, while Myanmar and Cambodia are the bottom two at 23 percent and 22 percent, respectively.

The BSP remains optimistic that the banking system would grow further in the coming years along with the economy as a whole since the increase in bank accounts was more evident in poorer and less educated population groups. 

After all, its records show that the poorest 40 percent of Filipino adults with bank accounts increased by 7.1 percentage points from 2011 to 2014, higher than the 3.4-percentage-point increase seen in the upper 60-percent income class of the population.

It is interesting to note, the bank regulator said, that the number of bank-account holders had increased even among less-educated adults.

It stand to reason that if the economy keeps getting better, then more people should be saving money in banks, money that can be spent elsewhere as capital to boost trade and industry. That's why the government, through the BSP, should continue efforts to bring the financial system closer to the people, especially to the disadvantaged sectors.  –END-                   

Overhaul PDOS now

The Pre-Departure Orientation Seminar (PDOS) for overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) cannot save undocumented workers or tourists like Mary Jane Veloso who, wittingly or unwittingly, find themselves serving as cross-country drug mules for doping syndicates.

But what the PDOS can do for OFWs, aside from warning them against accepting potential contrabands like drugs in their baggage, is to arm them with sufficient knowledge so they do not run afoul with the laws of their host countries while making their work bearable, if not hassle-free.

The problem is that the PDOS as we know it today is next to useless after it was delegated by the government to private PDOS providers. Said PDOS providers have turned the program into a purely money-making venture devoid of any real knowledge transfer to OFWs.

As if the PDOS modules being used are not outdated, incomplete or not country specific enough to really help OFWs adjust, blend in or excel in their alien work environments, many rogue PDOS providers just use the one-session seminars to sell the competing remittance services of banks in exchange for hefty commissions.

The time has come for the government (paging DOLE, OWWA and POEA) to really take a closer look and to overhaul the PDOS so that the modules are updated regularly, the speakers are certified to have first-hand knowledge about what they are talking about, and that the PDOS providers are not really only there for the money but because they also have pro-OFW advocacies.

And while at it, can the government ban the sale of whatever (ball pens, papers, snacks, and especially remittance services and additional insurance coverage) during the PDOS. Otherwise, let the OFWs forgo attending the presently defective PDOS because it’s an utter waste of their time. -end-