The practice of extending cash advances to officials and employees of government is one disease difficult to cure. It is recurring.
It is worse when cash advances are not liquidated. Un-liquidated cash advances put a government office at risk. It is accountability hanging; a corrupt act.
Advancing cash to officials and employees is not illegal—if it is liquidated. If not, it is a crime. And a crime should be punished.
Officials and employees who incur cash advances may reason that as public servants they are merely doing their duty in advancing the cause of the people and serving the public good. Hence, they need the cash—and government should advance it. I have heard this twisted logic many times.
The answer is: “Yes, you are doing your official duty. Yes, you may be extended cash advance. But, no, you may not leave it un-liquidated. Tell the people how you spent it and what for.”
I make this observation because it has come to my attention that this cancer of cash advances has infected the provincial capitol of Gov. Natalio Beltran III. It is now malignant.
This is not to say that the disease has become acute under the governor, or that prior to his assumption of the governor’s seat, the capitol was ‘clean’ of cash advances.
No, in fact, we can say that before Beltran came from the backwaters of the kingdom of Sulayman to become rajah of Romblon, the capitol was already showing symptoms of the disease.
In short, the young governor arrived at a time when cash advancers in the capitol were already plying their nefarious trade—or corrupt practice—of NOT liquidating their cash advances.
These observations are not mine. These are the findings of the Commission on Audit, the praetorian guard of public finances, in its 2007 Annual Audit Report on the Province of Romblon.
In the report, the COA wrote:
“The non-liquidation of the outstanding cash advances of P15,222,451.74 as of year-end 2007 unnecessarily tie(s) up the operating funds of the agency and thus, operations may be hampered, obligations may not be met jeopardizing the interests of the constituent.”
Never mind the COA’s tortured syntax. They are accountants, not writers. But mind what it says, which was to indict the provincial government for jeopardizing the people’s interest.
I don’t know if the governor understood what this means. I think his assistants should explain it to him, because it is already 2009 and the COA is due to issue once again its Annual Audit Report. I am waiting for that to see if something has changed, like, if the cash advances increased or decreased.
Now, the details, as the COA observed.
Of the P15.222 million in un-liquidated cash advances, P10.324 million have been outstanding for over two years, meaning the bulk of the amount were advanced during the time of the late governor Perpetuo Ylagan who, for reasons that he carried to his grave, did not press the cash advancers to liquidate their cash advances. Beltran, thus, inherited the problem.
If the cash advances have not been liquidated in two years, the COA doubts if these were used for the intended purpose.
Simply put, the COA was saying: “OK, two years in the running and you have not accounted for the cash advances. You did not use it. You might have burned it.”
Or, if I may add: “You might have kept it for yourself.” See?
And this is what’s funny. The balance sheet of the provincial capitol at the end of 2007 reflected the cash advances as assets.
Hello? I am not an accountant (I cry when I see a number problem), but this accounting practice of the provincial government of treating advances as assets defies logic, if not common sense. The COA said the cash advances have been expended and so they are not assets.
Almost half a million pesos, or P403,509.81, of the outstanding cash advances were granted to employees already separated from the service, but remains in the books of accounts.
Susmariosep. Why were these employees allowed to leave in the first place without settling their accountabilities? Who signed their clearances?
The COA reported that the provincial government did not report (that word, report!) P2.366 million in cash advances of SDOs (special disbursing officers) as soon as the purpose of the cash advances was served. And hear this. The SDOs liquidated their cash advances beyond the prescription period, a violation of government accounting rules and regulations. Perhaps, they were buying time to cook up some magic?
The COA also noted that 112 officials and employees have incurred cash advances of P639,379.97 for travel. Oh, no!
Perhaps, this is the reason why on any given regular working day, an usisero quipped, the provincial capitol seems empty. Many of the officials and employees could be on travel. By what means and to where? Did they fly first class? Were the travels official?
Who cares? As long as they traveled with a cash advance, they can attend any town or barangay fiesta, visit their farms, or even act as godparents in the christening of a neighbor’s dog. What are they in power for, anyway?
Now, the list of officials and employees who have the largest amount of cash advances as of December 2007. Lights on. Drum roll, please.
June B. Recon, Prov’l Social Welfare Dev’t Officer P4,745,750.00
Ruby F. Fababeir, Provincial Treasurer P3,810,613.00
Richard Lozada, Supply Officer II P1,857,575.00
Neva F. Deocadas, Cashier III P 546,804.65
Ruben Monzales, Disbursing Officer P 214,532.02
In addition to the above, the COA lists six (6) unnamed regional disbursing officers with a total cash advance of P89,109.29; nine (9) special disbursing officers who had a total of P2,048,791.29; and two (2) Department of Education personnel with P1,112,650 in un-liquidated cash advances. Who are they?
Monzales, the COA foot-noted, absconded in 1996. Meaning, he has run away with his cash advance—unliquidated. If by chance you see this man loafing around the province, say, for example, in a cockfight arena, I urge you to seize him, bind him, and ship him to the capitol.
As to the rest, may God forgive them for they know not what they are not liquidating.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Look! The employees have no clothes. They are without uniforms—yet
Sometime in October 2006, then Armed Forces spokesperson Lieutenant Colonel Bartolome Bacarro said Makati City mayor Jejomar Binay could be liable for wearing a Marine uniform. He said wearing of military uniforms by civilians is prohibited.
I almost fell off my seat upon reading this statement of genius from the military establishment.
At that time, Binay was ordered suspended from office, but he defiantly protested the order, alleging it was illegal. Binay is a lawyer and he knew his law. So, he barricaded the Makati city hall and, together with his supporters, faced the media wearing a marine jacket.
I remember writing in my blog about the prohibition as insane. Well, the threat to sanction Binay for his sporting a military attire was crazy. I said that many civilians, among them drivers and jueteng collectors, wear military uniforms without getting noticed or threatened like Binay. Why would the administration of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo make an issue of an opposition leader’s wearing a marine jacket when ordinary folks do it with impunity?
I remember this incident because the other day I received a text message from, I think, an employee at the Romblon capitol. The message was not about illegal wearing of uniforms, however. It was about the lack of uniforms to wear. The message reads:
“Gud a.m. D2 sa capitol, ng march kinaltas s clothing allow cy 2008 ang 3700 para daw sa uniform. Tanong namin s pagador kung nasaan n ung pera 4 uniform wala n daw sa knya. Ang pera n 3700 bawat empleyado ay aabot sa 1.2M at ito ay naisurender kay raylin. Tapos n ang taon nasaan n ang uniform. Pls do not publich my cp. Takot malipat sa san jose. Pkpasa sa magiting na awe eranes at pkimbestigahan.”
A short explanation about the text.
The message was clearly saying something about a P3,700 deduction from the provincial capitol employees’ clothing allowance in 2008 for office uniforms. The deduction was made in March.
The ‘pagador’ could be the provincial cashier.
The name ‘raylin’ refers to Raylin Famatiga who, according to my source, is the ‘sidekick’ of Gov. Natalio Beltran III. She allegedly received the P1.2 million. If there is a “sidekick’, there must be a ‘frontkick’ and a ‘back kick’, a total of three. Who are they? Are they also ‘uniform-ly’ collecting from the provincial cashier?
And Awe Eranes? Awe is the Romblon Sun’s courageous reporter-columnist, to whom the text messenger would like to send his/her message.
The text messenger’s plea not to publish his/her number for fear of being exiled or re-assigned to far-away San Jose was proof the ‘texter’ was a capitol employee. It was understandable, because the governor has a history of getting personal with employees who cross his way or do not do his bidding. Remember Amy Mallen?
Now, I pieced the story together and it goes like this:
In March 2008, the provincial employees’ clothing allowances were deducted the amount of P3,700 for their office uniforms. It’s already 2009, but many of them have yet to see the color or the cloth of their uniforms.
I, myself, am wondering. Inggwa aboy it butkon kag mga uniporme? Kumpleto ara it butones? Subaling pareho sa mga uniporme it sundalo it AFP nak inggwa minsan it malip-ot it butkon o a-usang rangaw ka zipper ag kung minsan pay usang suksok yang ay pangtatas-tas sey.
I pray the uniforms are OK—if they are delivered at all. I hope the employees are not going to the office in street clothes. Or, God forbid, naked.
You see, a good uniform speaks of the office where one works. It lends the wearer an aura of decency and a wholesome personality. And it also reflects the taste of the head of office.
In this case, we can deduce that the head of office, Gov. Beltran, has no taste. Why? Because no one has seen his employees’ uniforms yet. Waya pa natatabas?
In this case, one can only ask a lot of questions. What’s the reason the uniforms remain undelivered? Who is the tailor-contractor of the uniforms? Was the purchase bid out? If yes, who are the other bidders? If no, what were the guarantees, if any, of the negotiated contract? What was the role of Gov. Beltran in the purchase of the uniforms? Why was the amount of P1.2 million entrusted to Raylin Famatiga? Is she a bonded personnel?
When I received the complaint about the undelivered uniforms, I immediately texted Gov. Beltran and asked for his comment about the matter. He did not answer. His phone must be on a silent mode. Or, maybe I got the wrong number.
What can I say? As a writer, I am intrigued. I have texted political personalities higher than a governor before and they respond.
Rep. Budoy Madrona answers my phone calls and text messages. Just last week, I called up former Rep. Lolong Firmalo and he was quickly on his phone. It is not that I am complaining or feeling important, because I am nobody, but you know, phones are there to be answered. It is a polite thing to answer phones.
My point is that if you are a public official, you must be accountable to your constituents—the voters. More so if there is an issue invested with public interest. The P1.2 million is public money and the people are entitled to know why, if it was intended for uniforms, the uniforms have not been fully delivered. It’s a simple question, really.
This governor, really, has lot of explaining to do. Awe Eranes called up to tell me that Gov. Beltran told him he is already following-up the uniforms.
Good grief! Is that what a governor good for? Is that his job? To follow-up with the contractors the things purchased by the capitol, such as uniforms? How long has he been following-up the uniforms? Since March 2008?
And who, again, is the contractor? My informer said it was the governor’s wife, Susan.
Gov. Beltran, tell me this is not true. Hurry up. 2010 is just around the corner. And my phone is open.
I almost fell off my seat upon reading this statement of genius from the military establishment.
At that time, Binay was ordered suspended from office, but he defiantly protested the order, alleging it was illegal. Binay is a lawyer and he knew his law. So, he barricaded the Makati city hall and, together with his supporters, faced the media wearing a marine jacket.
I remember writing in my blog about the prohibition as insane. Well, the threat to sanction Binay for his sporting a military attire was crazy. I said that many civilians, among them drivers and jueteng collectors, wear military uniforms without getting noticed or threatened like Binay. Why would the administration of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo make an issue of an opposition leader’s wearing a marine jacket when ordinary folks do it with impunity?
I remember this incident because the other day I received a text message from, I think, an employee at the Romblon capitol. The message was not about illegal wearing of uniforms, however. It was about the lack of uniforms to wear. The message reads:
“Gud a.m. D2 sa capitol, ng march kinaltas s clothing allow cy 2008 ang 3700 para daw sa uniform. Tanong namin s pagador kung nasaan n ung pera 4 uniform wala n daw sa knya. Ang pera n 3700 bawat empleyado ay aabot sa 1.2M at ito ay naisurender kay raylin. Tapos n ang taon nasaan n ang uniform. Pls do not publich my cp. Takot malipat sa san jose. Pkpasa sa magiting na awe eranes at pkimbestigahan.”
A short explanation about the text.
The message was clearly saying something about a P3,700 deduction from the provincial capitol employees’ clothing allowance in 2008 for office uniforms. The deduction was made in March.
The ‘pagador’ could be the provincial cashier.
The name ‘raylin’ refers to Raylin Famatiga who, according to my source, is the ‘sidekick’ of Gov. Natalio Beltran III. She allegedly received the P1.2 million. If there is a “sidekick’, there must be a ‘frontkick’ and a ‘back kick’, a total of three. Who are they? Are they also ‘uniform-ly’ collecting from the provincial cashier?
And Awe Eranes? Awe is the Romblon Sun’s courageous reporter-columnist, to whom the text messenger would like to send his/her message.
The text messenger’s plea not to publish his/her number for fear of being exiled or re-assigned to far-away San Jose was proof the ‘texter’ was a capitol employee. It was understandable, because the governor has a history of getting personal with employees who cross his way or do not do his bidding. Remember Amy Mallen?
Now, I pieced the story together and it goes like this:
In March 2008, the provincial employees’ clothing allowances were deducted the amount of P3,700 for their office uniforms. It’s already 2009, but many of them have yet to see the color or the cloth of their uniforms.
I, myself, am wondering. Inggwa aboy it butkon kag mga uniporme? Kumpleto ara it butones? Subaling pareho sa mga uniporme it sundalo it AFP nak inggwa minsan it malip-ot it butkon o a-usang rangaw ka zipper ag kung minsan pay usang suksok yang ay pangtatas-tas sey.
I pray the uniforms are OK—if they are delivered at all. I hope the employees are not going to the office in street clothes. Or, God forbid, naked.
You see, a good uniform speaks of the office where one works. It lends the wearer an aura of decency and a wholesome personality. And it also reflects the taste of the head of office.
In this case, we can deduce that the head of office, Gov. Beltran, has no taste. Why? Because no one has seen his employees’ uniforms yet. Waya pa natatabas?
In this case, one can only ask a lot of questions. What’s the reason the uniforms remain undelivered? Who is the tailor-contractor of the uniforms? Was the purchase bid out? If yes, who are the other bidders? If no, what were the guarantees, if any, of the negotiated contract? What was the role of Gov. Beltran in the purchase of the uniforms? Why was the amount of P1.2 million entrusted to Raylin Famatiga? Is she a bonded personnel?
When I received the complaint about the undelivered uniforms, I immediately texted Gov. Beltran and asked for his comment about the matter. He did not answer. His phone must be on a silent mode. Or, maybe I got the wrong number.
What can I say? As a writer, I am intrigued. I have texted political personalities higher than a governor before and they respond.
Rep. Budoy Madrona answers my phone calls and text messages. Just last week, I called up former Rep. Lolong Firmalo and he was quickly on his phone. It is not that I am complaining or feeling important, because I am nobody, but you know, phones are there to be answered. It is a polite thing to answer phones.
My point is that if you are a public official, you must be accountable to your constituents—the voters. More so if there is an issue invested with public interest. The P1.2 million is public money and the people are entitled to know why, if it was intended for uniforms, the uniforms have not been fully delivered. It’s a simple question, really.
This governor, really, has lot of explaining to do. Awe Eranes called up to tell me that Gov. Beltran told him he is already following-up the uniforms.
Good grief! Is that what a governor good for? Is that his job? To follow-up with the contractors the things purchased by the capitol, such as uniforms? How long has he been following-up the uniforms? Since March 2008?
And who, again, is the contractor? My informer said it was the governor’s wife, Susan.
Gov. Beltran, tell me this is not true. Hurry up. 2010 is just around the corner. And my phone is open.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
To cope with the crisis, sing with 1622: Unang Usbor—in Lipa
The global financial crisis may have forced the United States not to invite any king, queen, prince, emir, caliph, czar, emperor, prime minister, or president to the Barack Obama inauguration on January 20, and although this may not be the reason as I only took my creative license to insinuate it, the news that no world leader had been sent an invite to the Obama swearing-in was a mild surprise.
Are the Americans again reverting to its insular attitude amidst the globalization of, well, the globe?
Or, ging iismot si Obama sa kalibutan?
Another news, the one that says the Arab world lost trillions of dollars in the current global financial meltdown, was expected.
Who will not lose stratospheric amounts if you produce the world’s oil and then suddenly find yourself waking up in the morning that people are using gaos it amo—not oil—to run their cars? You will lose. Terribly.
But it’s not only the Americans and the Arabs who have lost their shirts because of the crisis. Wide swaths of the population in Europe, Africa, Oceania and Asia are agroaning under the crushing weight of the crisis.
Joblessness is beginning to take its toll in many countries, including the Philippines. If there is high unemployment, hunger could not be far behind and after that could follow social and political upheaval that could engender a war.
Pray, therefore, that the world would not be plunged into another horrific spectacle of nations fighting one another, although if that could not be prevented, I doubt if it would last long given the technology and instruments of death that man has developed. We could evaporate in a touch of a button if a war erupts.
Some may scoff at my pessimistic reading of the current global situation, but actually this is just my way of taking off to a more positive look at what’s happening around us.
Here in Lipa City, for example, one such happening that excites me is a concert.
Yes, a concert. You will ask why, in the midst of a crisis, one would go to a concert?
The answer is simple.
It is because during a crisis, the best way to cope is to sing. Sing when you can not laugh your way to the bank. Sing when many people around you are weeping.
Or about to weep.
Just sing.
But don’t sing alone. Sing in a concert with a band that’s not affected by the crisis because in the land where its members come from, the sea and the mountains are generously sufficient to meet their and their neighbors’ needs.
That’s true. People are fond to recite an aphorism that “no man is an island”—that’s poet John Donne’s line, but I tell you, island peoples such as us, the Sibalenhons, the Banto-anons, and the Simaranhons, are abundantly satisfied with what we have, which are the simple things in life.
1622: Unang Usbor is not simple, however. It is grand. And it will come to Lipa on the 15th of February, not just to sing and entertain, but also to unwrap for our delectation and delight a unique musical culture, aged and sweetened by time—and timelessness.
1622: Unang Usbor is Romblon’s first homegrown musical group whose repertoire is completely in Asi, our identity and our language.
Asi is an ancient tribe with a rich language heritage. It is this heritage that the concert will highlight, through music. The concert aims to instill among the Asi Romblomanons pride of their identity, to reawaken their consciousness about their cultural legacy, and to promote Asi music outside of Romblon.
If this does not appeal to you, I don’t know what will. Perhaps you are busy coping with the financial crisis. You might have just lost your job or still finding one. You might have a problem that presently occupies your mind, preventing you from wandering into the music world. Or you might not be interested in anything related to your cultural roots. You might not even have an ear for music.
That’s fine. But did you know that many Romblomanons are coming to the concert not simply because of cultural reasons?
They will watch the concert because amidst the global noise emitted by the current crisis and by shrieking politicians, they know that music, in whatever form or language, is the only art that affirms the certainty of hope.
And who will not want to have a hope certain in a world where disease, war, poverty and environmental degradation are suffocating us to death?
Who would not want to hope that life would be better in a world where uncertainty and doubts cloud the mind almost every second of your waking hours?
Indeed, who would not want a day off from the demands of work and spend it in the company of friends while listening to true musical sounds by the gifted band?
Kusog Sibalenhon, which is organizing the concert, the band’s first in Lipa, is nervously excited about the event because it may run out of tickets and seats to the 1,000 person-capacity CAP Auditorium. That’s along the national highway before the Lipa City bus stop.
So, if you are not doing anything worthwhile on Sunday, February 15, (or even if you are doing something which you believe will affect world history, but think it could be deferred for another day), come to Lipa City for the concert.
Bring your date if you have to because there will also be a post-Valentine dance at the concert.
How’s that for a hard sell?
Are the Americans again reverting to its insular attitude amidst the globalization of, well, the globe?
Or, ging iismot si Obama sa kalibutan?
Another news, the one that says the Arab world lost trillions of dollars in the current global financial meltdown, was expected.
Who will not lose stratospheric amounts if you produce the world’s oil and then suddenly find yourself waking up in the morning that people are using gaos it amo—not oil—to run their cars? You will lose. Terribly.
But it’s not only the Americans and the Arabs who have lost their shirts because of the crisis. Wide swaths of the population in Europe, Africa, Oceania and Asia are agroaning under the crushing weight of the crisis.
Joblessness is beginning to take its toll in many countries, including the Philippines. If there is high unemployment, hunger could not be far behind and after that could follow social and political upheaval that could engender a war.
Pray, therefore, that the world would not be plunged into another horrific spectacle of nations fighting one another, although if that could not be prevented, I doubt if it would last long given the technology and instruments of death that man has developed. We could evaporate in a touch of a button if a war erupts.
Some may scoff at my pessimistic reading of the current global situation, but actually this is just my way of taking off to a more positive look at what’s happening around us.
Here in Lipa City, for example, one such happening that excites me is a concert.
Yes, a concert. You will ask why, in the midst of a crisis, one would go to a concert?
The answer is simple.
It is because during a crisis, the best way to cope is to sing. Sing when you can not laugh your way to the bank. Sing when many people around you are weeping.
Or about to weep.
Just sing.
But don’t sing alone. Sing in a concert with a band that’s not affected by the crisis because in the land where its members come from, the sea and the mountains are generously sufficient to meet their and their neighbors’ needs.
That’s true. People are fond to recite an aphorism that “no man is an island”—that’s poet John Donne’s line, but I tell you, island peoples such as us, the Sibalenhons, the Banto-anons, and the Simaranhons, are abundantly satisfied with what we have, which are the simple things in life.
1622: Unang Usbor is not simple, however. It is grand. And it will come to Lipa on the 15th of February, not just to sing and entertain, but also to unwrap for our delectation and delight a unique musical culture, aged and sweetened by time—and timelessness.
1622: Unang Usbor is Romblon’s first homegrown musical group whose repertoire is completely in Asi, our identity and our language.
Asi is an ancient tribe with a rich language heritage. It is this heritage that the concert will highlight, through music. The concert aims to instill among the Asi Romblomanons pride of their identity, to reawaken their consciousness about their cultural legacy, and to promote Asi music outside of Romblon.
If this does not appeal to you, I don’t know what will. Perhaps you are busy coping with the financial crisis. You might have just lost your job or still finding one. You might have a problem that presently occupies your mind, preventing you from wandering into the music world. Or you might not be interested in anything related to your cultural roots. You might not even have an ear for music.
That’s fine. But did you know that many Romblomanons are coming to the concert not simply because of cultural reasons?
They will watch the concert because amidst the global noise emitted by the current crisis and by shrieking politicians, they know that music, in whatever form or language, is the only art that affirms the certainty of hope.
And who will not want to have a hope certain in a world where disease, war, poverty and environmental degradation are suffocating us to death?
Who would not want to hope that life would be better in a world where uncertainty and doubts cloud the mind almost every second of your waking hours?
Indeed, who would not want a day off from the demands of work and spend it in the company of friends while listening to true musical sounds by the gifted band?
Kusog Sibalenhon, which is organizing the concert, the band’s first in Lipa, is nervously excited about the event because it may run out of tickets and seats to the 1,000 person-capacity CAP Auditorium. That’s along the national highway before the Lipa City bus stop.
So, if you are not doing anything worthwhile on Sunday, February 15, (or even if you are doing something which you believe will affect world history, but think it could be deferred for another day), come to Lipa City for the concert.
Bring your date if you have to because there will also be a post-Valentine dance at the concert.
How’s that for a hard sell?
Sunday, January 4, 2009
A conversation with a Simaranhon—on and in Asi
I was tempted to reproduce in whole the letter I received on December 12, 2008 from Ambring Fruelda, who took issue with the piece I wrote on language and provincial unity.
The reason was obvious. His letter was in Asi and readers who cannot understand the language might not be able to capture its substance if it is published piecemeal.
Ambring, who is from Simara (from Ilijan, I guess) delved on an issue—language—that is close to heart. In fact, it could be very well the heart of the cultural confusion that is prevalent not only in Romblon, but also in many parts of the country.
Language in the Philippines has become a contentious issue even before Felipinas took its shape as a nascent nation-state.
Jose Rizal, writing Sa Aking Mga Kababata, brought to national consciousness the need for a national language. From there, language development in the country had been characterized by twists and turns, the road towards a national language bumpy and stormy.
This is perhaps why Ambring disagreed that “provincial unity begins with language unity.” My rejoinder follows his letter, which is in italics.
“Kaling tungor sa pagkakausa et mga Romblomanon ay mabug-at nak panrayon,” he wrote.
“Kaling tatabilon nak kali ay asa buha ey et mga Romblomanon meski kag panahon nak waya pa kita sa pananam-go it ato mga maguyang, o maging kag ato mga maguyang nak tubong Romblon ay waya pa sa pananam-go et inra mga maguyang.”
I am not sure about that, Ambring. There is no extant record to indicate that Romblomanons were already concerned about a provincial language even before you and I were born.
What there is, and I can attest to this, was a book called Pasyon, which my grandmothers and their mothers, as well as almost every Sibalenhon, used to read in a singing manner during Lent, in commemoration of the passion and death of Christ.
You must be aware of this: our forebears were reared by the Spaniards in a religious tradition expressed in the language of the Pasyon, which was in Tagalog. There was no indication they worried about translating the Pasyon into Asi, Onhan, or Ini to get closer to heaven.
Fear—religious fear of eternal damnation—was a compelling reason NOT to say a prayer in our own languages. It is amidst this fear that every Romblomanon grew up. I can tell you, very little has changed in this regard. Go ask the priests.
“Pagkarali nak mitlangon kaling ging sisiling nak pagkakausa, pero ka sintido nak kahulugan ay napakahirap makuhil/maruntoy.”
I agree. Provincial unity is an ideal very difficult to realize. That it is hard to unite a disparate group of people, each with a unique culture and tradition and language, means the more we have to aspire for it.
And since we are disunited, it behooves every Romblomanon to work towards uniting ourselves. Unity may be a generic term, a grand vision, but again a mountain exists to be climbed because it is there. It is grand visions which propel a people to heights of achievements.
The answer to your question, “Napati kamo nak ka pagkakausa sa ato sariling rila ay makusog, matibay, matin-aw ag makapuslanan nak kinahangyanon para sa pagkakausa et buong probensiya et Romblon?” is readily yes.
Unity, while it is a part of the politicians’ lexicon, has more than political underpinnings. Its requisites reach far beyond outward show of political agreement, such as overwhelmingly voting a person to power.
Thus, the common trick that politicians use is to exhort voters to “unite” behind candidates during elections. After they have won because the voters “united”, the very first official act of these politicians is to “divide” them again. Worse, they also divide the spoils among themselves, with the people left out, disunited as ever, again.
Unity is agreeing to disagree. It is that cultural and ideological cord that binds a people to a common aspiration, identity, and destiny—not to a common candidate.
It is when we rush in defense of our common provincial heritage and socio-economic and cultural vision, not in defense of corrupt and inutile politicians.
In this sense, we can only summon the Romblomanons’ energy towards provincial unity when we are united in the language of our dreams.
This is not to say we should speak in one common tongue, although that also is an ideal. This is to say we should move in a singular provincial direction. After His death, the twelve apostles of Christ were united in one common purpose, although they “spoke in different tongues.”
No. By language unity, it means agreeing in words and in deed that our unique languages should take precedence and pre-eminence over any other foreign tongues—Tagalog or whatever.
It means speaking with one voice about where we want to go as a province, and how to go there without the help of lying and thieving politicians. More importantly, language unity is rediscovering our provincial soul and keeping it alive through thick and thin to preserve our identity as Romblomanons.
“Sa kaklaruhan nak kali, kung sariling rila yang ka basihan et pagkakausa ay masisiling nako nak mahirap magka-enggwa et pagkakausa ka bug-os nak probensiya; ako mismo, ka ayam yang nako—nakakabasa, nakakabisaya, nakakaintindi, nakakasuyat, nakakapag-estoryahan—reli sa tatlong rila ay Asi dahil ako ay taga Simara, ag waya kamuangan/karanasan tungor sa Onhan ag Ini.”
I did not say—and I never believe—that Romblomanons will be united if they speak one common language. What I did say was that our abandonment of our own languages was one of the causes of our disunity. By substituting our own languages with the medium of Francisco Balagtas, we have become strangers to each other and to ourselves. We have been exposed culturally naked.
Like you, Ambring, I am fiercely proud of my Asi heritage.
I used to be incapacitated by my inability to speak Onhan and Ini. However, over the years of regular travel and association with many Romblomanons, I have come to discover that fellow Romblomanons—from Sibuyan to Hambil; from Looc to Ferrol; and from San Agustin to Romblon—take enormous pride in conversing with me in their own languages.
The same is true with foreigners. Chinese officials, for instance, although they speak English, never bother to converse with state visitors in any language other than in Chinese. To communicate, they employ an army of interpreters.
Ditto with the French, Spaniards, Italians, Germans, and Russians. In Japan, the national sentiment for Nihongo is so strong that the first thing the Japanese do when they get hold of a document in a foreign language is to translate it to Japanese. Translation is a flourishing business in Japan.
“Maramong salamat nak enggwa et rila ka ato bug-os nak Pilipinas—Filipino—para magka-intindihan ka mga tawo buko yang sa sariling rila nak ging mukyatan, ag iba pang kapuslanan. Ging tutudloan ra gihapon kita et iba pang mga lenggwahe sa mga eskwelahan tuyar sa English ag iba pa para ato magamit sa tamang kinahangyanon.”
I have no quarrel with a legislated language, which is what Filipino is. The problem with Filipino is that it is Tagalog in disguise.
The constitutionally-imposed national language is still a work in progress. It continues to borrow, as it should, from Tagalog, Cebuano, Visayan, Pampango, and other regional languages. Hence, it is incomplete. It has no roots of its own, other than the political temperament and the personal inclinations of the members of the revolutionary 1986 Constitutional Convention.
Over time, perhaps, there will evolve a national language called Filipino, and this is fine. In the meantime, we must use our own language in our provincial conversation.
Why should I, therefore, prefer Filipino, a 22-year old language, over Asi, a centuries-old tongue that expresses clearly, exactly and completely my emotional feelings and social predicament?
For instance, does Filipino have a word for “nayuyor” and can it express strongly the Asi’s disdain for political perverts such that “mangoy” does? I doubt.
“Sa muyat nako ay waya mayain nak ka usang tawo ay magka-enggwa et kaayaman sa ibang lenggwahe; ka yain ay kung ka sariling rila ay ging kakahuda, ging rarat-ugan sa pagpalangga et ibang rila, o ging papabad-an nak mapaya sa ato ging mukyatan nak lugar ag sa ato kultura.”
Exactly, Ambring, and I will add: “Kung mapaya sa memorya.”
In the face of today’s strong current of language patriotism all over the world, the best thing we could do is to study and learn other languages—but not expropriate them as a substitute for our own. Also, the other best thing is to preserve our own languages in our collective memory.
"Enggwa ako et ipangutana sa inro kapwa nako Asi. Ayam nato nak sa ngasing nak panahon et ato sibilisasyon ay pagkaramo ey sa ato kapwa Asi nak nakatuntong, nakapag-asawa, naka-estar sa lugar nak liwas et Asi. Ka inro baga mga anak ay maayam et rilang Asi?"
This is a good point, and some Asi readers may squirm at the question.
Lara and Lilac, my two daughters, grew up in a trilingual family. When in the presence of my in-laws, we speak Tagalog. When at home, common conversation is in Asi. In school, they have picked up English because it is a medium of instruction. They also speak very good Tagalog—the Batangueño variety. Of the two, it is Lara who speaks and reads Asi; Lilac, only haltingly. We speak Asi when we are with Romblomanons, whether they are from Looc or from Sibuyan.
The rest of Ambring’s letter is more of an exhortation to his fellow Simaranhons to use Asi. It is reproduced below without any more comments. Notice the Asi language in its full-bodied flavor and you will understand why the it has no equal.
“Simaranhon, ako ay napati nak ka ako ging mukyatan nak rilang Asi ay dapat palanggaon ag gamiton sa tama: kung ka kaatubang ay nakakaintindi et Asi, meski sa lugar nak ka rila ay Tagalog, English, o nio man, ay Asi nak rila ka mitlangon. Kung enggwa sa grupo et buko Asi ag nakikipag-bayduhan et estorya ay gamiton kung nio ka tama nak rila basi sa kung nio ka tama para magkaka-intindihan.
“Kabay pang ka ako kapwa Simaranhon sa tunga et mga pagbabag-o nak raya et pagyukas et mga tuig ag pagyakot-yakot et kultura/sibilisasyon ay e-angkla sa sarili ka rilang Simaranhon Asi, gamiton et tama sa Simara ag riin mang lugar.
“Aya nato gi limti, aya nato gi isli; kupkupa nato et hugot kaling ato sariling rila ag ato ipakilaya nak kali ay ato rilang ging mukyatan; mana nato sa ato mga ninuno ag kailangan nak ipagmarako ag siguraduhon nak perming makusog; gamiton/mitlangon sa tanang sitwasyon nak tama.
“Sa punto et pagkakausa, ka sariling rila ay rako ka maibubulig bilang pagkilaya et ka-grupo/ka-lugar/ging halinan, pero ka hugot nak pagkakausa ay buko yang sa pagmitlang et sariling rila naka-angkla.
“Kung ikaw ay anak et parehong Asi, ag daok ka et rilang Asi dahil sa ibang lugar ka naging tawo, nag-estar, ag nagka-enggwa et sariling pamilya ag 'ya ka gi turo-e et Asi ay maaari ra gihapon nak magrawat et pagkakausa sa lugar et imo mga maguyang/ninunong Asi kung ayam nimo ag ging tataw-an et balor ka inra/imo ging halinan.
“Ka mahapri sa suyok-suyok ag nakakalipong et buha ay kung purong Asi ag bisayahan nimo et Asi ay ibang rila ka isabat sa imo, o kung hagto mismo sa sariling isla nak Asi ka rila ay ibang rila pa gihapon ka inahuguran nak mitlangon, o meski ayam ka rilang Asi sa diretsuhang mitlang ay nag-iinuta dahil sa pagyakot it ibang rila—Asi-Taglish—o pag-gamit et estelong "text messaging" meski buko sa "text messaging" nak sitwasyon.
“Kaling pagkakausa ay malip-ot nak mitlangon pero meski sa mga pareho ka rila, maisot nak islang ging halinan, ay mahirap maruntoy; ayam kali nato, lalo ey kitang mga atunanon nak enggwa et naiisip ag naghihimo et mga patikang para sa kaanduan nak pangkaramuan nak waya yakot nak pansariling puntariya ag politika.
“Ka pagkakausa et pila ay indi masisiling nak pagkakausa et bug-os nak lugar—halimbawa, Simara—kung ka karamuang Simaranhon ay waya girarawat et pagkakausa tungor sa pangkaramuang programa, proyekto, ag pag-bulig meski puro Asi ka natutungran.”
The reason was obvious. His letter was in Asi and readers who cannot understand the language might not be able to capture its substance if it is published piecemeal.
Ambring, who is from Simara (from Ilijan, I guess) delved on an issue—language—that is close to heart. In fact, it could be very well the heart of the cultural confusion that is prevalent not only in Romblon, but also in many parts of the country.
Language in the Philippines has become a contentious issue even before Felipinas took its shape as a nascent nation-state.
Jose Rizal, writing Sa Aking Mga Kababata, brought to national consciousness the need for a national language. From there, language development in the country had been characterized by twists and turns, the road towards a national language bumpy and stormy.
This is perhaps why Ambring disagreed that “provincial unity begins with language unity.” My rejoinder follows his letter, which is in italics.
“Kaling tungor sa pagkakausa et mga Romblomanon ay mabug-at nak panrayon,” he wrote.
“Kaling tatabilon nak kali ay asa buha ey et mga Romblomanon meski kag panahon nak waya pa kita sa pananam-go it ato mga maguyang, o maging kag ato mga maguyang nak tubong Romblon ay waya pa sa pananam-go et inra mga maguyang.”
I am not sure about that, Ambring. There is no extant record to indicate that Romblomanons were already concerned about a provincial language even before you and I were born.
What there is, and I can attest to this, was a book called Pasyon, which my grandmothers and their mothers, as well as almost every Sibalenhon, used to read in a singing manner during Lent, in commemoration of the passion and death of Christ.
You must be aware of this: our forebears were reared by the Spaniards in a religious tradition expressed in the language of the Pasyon, which was in Tagalog. There was no indication they worried about translating the Pasyon into Asi, Onhan, or Ini to get closer to heaven.
Fear—religious fear of eternal damnation—was a compelling reason NOT to say a prayer in our own languages. It is amidst this fear that every Romblomanon grew up. I can tell you, very little has changed in this regard. Go ask the priests.
“Pagkarali nak mitlangon kaling ging sisiling nak pagkakausa, pero ka sintido nak kahulugan ay napakahirap makuhil/maruntoy.”
I agree. Provincial unity is an ideal very difficult to realize. That it is hard to unite a disparate group of people, each with a unique culture and tradition and language, means the more we have to aspire for it.
And since we are disunited, it behooves every Romblomanon to work towards uniting ourselves. Unity may be a generic term, a grand vision, but again a mountain exists to be climbed because it is there. It is grand visions which propel a people to heights of achievements.
The answer to your question, “Napati kamo nak ka pagkakausa sa ato sariling rila ay makusog, matibay, matin-aw ag makapuslanan nak kinahangyanon para sa pagkakausa et buong probensiya et Romblon?” is readily yes.
Unity, while it is a part of the politicians’ lexicon, has more than political underpinnings. Its requisites reach far beyond outward show of political agreement, such as overwhelmingly voting a person to power.
Thus, the common trick that politicians use is to exhort voters to “unite” behind candidates during elections. After they have won because the voters “united”, the very first official act of these politicians is to “divide” them again. Worse, they also divide the spoils among themselves, with the people left out, disunited as ever, again.
Unity is agreeing to disagree. It is that cultural and ideological cord that binds a people to a common aspiration, identity, and destiny—not to a common candidate.
It is when we rush in defense of our common provincial heritage and socio-economic and cultural vision, not in defense of corrupt and inutile politicians.
In this sense, we can only summon the Romblomanons’ energy towards provincial unity when we are united in the language of our dreams.
This is not to say we should speak in one common tongue, although that also is an ideal. This is to say we should move in a singular provincial direction. After His death, the twelve apostles of Christ were united in one common purpose, although they “spoke in different tongues.”
No. By language unity, it means agreeing in words and in deed that our unique languages should take precedence and pre-eminence over any other foreign tongues—Tagalog or whatever.
It means speaking with one voice about where we want to go as a province, and how to go there without the help of lying and thieving politicians. More importantly, language unity is rediscovering our provincial soul and keeping it alive through thick and thin to preserve our identity as Romblomanons.
“Sa kaklaruhan nak kali, kung sariling rila yang ka basihan et pagkakausa ay masisiling nako nak mahirap magka-enggwa et pagkakausa ka bug-os nak probensiya; ako mismo, ka ayam yang nako—nakakabasa, nakakabisaya, nakakaintindi, nakakasuyat, nakakapag-estoryahan—reli sa tatlong rila ay Asi dahil ako ay taga Simara, ag waya kamuangan/karanasan tungor sa Onhan ag Ini.”
I did not say—and I never believe—that Romblomanons will be united if they speak one common language. What I did say was that our abandonment of our own languages was one of the causes of our disunity. By substituting our own languages with the medium of Francisco Balagtas, we have become strangers to each other and to ourselves. We have been exposed culturally naked.
Like you, Ambring, I am fiercely proud of my Asi heritage.
I used to be incapacitated by my inability to speak Onhan and Ini. However, over the years of regular travel and association with many Romblomanons, I have come to discover that fellow Romblomanons—from Sibuyan to Hambil; from Looc to Ferrol; and from San Agustin to Romblon—take enormous pride in conversing with me in their own languages.
The same is true with foreigners. Chinese officials, for instance, although they speak English, never bother to converse with state visitors in any language other than in Chinese. To communicate, they employ an army of interpreters.
Ditto with the French, Spaniards, Italians, Germans, and Russians. In Japan, the national sentiment for Nihongo is so strong that the first thing the Japanese do when they get hold of a document in a foreign language is to translate it to Japanese. Translation is a flourishing business in Japan.
“Maramong salamat nak enggwa et rila ka ato bug-os nak Pilipinas—Filipino—para magka-intindihan ka mga tawo buko yang sa sariling rila nak ging mukyatan, ag iba pang kapuslanan. Ging tutudloan ra gihapon kita et iba pang mga lenggwahe sa mga eskwelahan tuyar sa English ag iba pa para ato magamit sa tamang kinahangyanon.”
I have no quarrel with a legislated language, which is what Filipino is. The problem with Filipino is that it is Tagalog in disguise.
The constitutionally-imposed national language is still a work in progress. It continues to borrow, as it should, from Tagalog, Cebuano, Visayan, Pampango, and other regional languages. Hence, it is incomplete. It has no roots of its own, other than the political temperament and the personal inclinations of the members of the revolutionary 1986 Constitutional Convention.
Over time, perhaps, there will evolve a national language called Filipino, and this is fine. In the meantime, we must use our own language in our provincial conversation.
Why should I, therefore, prefer Filipino, a 22-year old language, over Asi, a centuries-old tongue that expresses clearly, exactly and completely my emotional feelings and social predicament?
For instance, does Filipino have a word for “nayuyor” and can it express strongly the Asi’s disdain for political perverts such that “mangoy” does? I doubt.
“Sa muyat nako ay waya mayain nak ka usang tawo ay magka-enggwa et kaayaman sa ibang lenggwahe; ka yain ay kung ka sariling rila ay ging kakahuda, ging rarat-ugan sa pagpalangga et ibang rila, o ging papabad-an nak mapaya sa ato ging mukyatan nak lugar ag sa ato kultura.”
Exactly, Ambring, and I will add: “Kung mapaya sa memorya.”
In the face of today’s strong current of language patriotism all over the world, the best thing we could do is to study and learn other languages—but not expropriate them as a substitute for our own. Also, the other best thing is to preserve our own languages in our collective memory.
"Enggwa ako et ipangutana sa inro kapwa nako Asi. Ayam nato nak sa ngasing nak panahon et ato sibilisasyon ay pagkaramo ey sa ato kapwa Asi nak nakatuntong, nakapag-asawa, naka-estar sa lugar nak liwas et Asi. Ka inro baga mga anak ay maayam et rilang Asi?"
This is a good point, and some Asi readers may squirm at the question.
Lara and Lilac, my two daughters, grew up in a trilingual family. When in the presence of my in-laws, we speak Tagalog. When at home, common conversation is in Asi. In school, they have picked up English because it is a medium of instruction. They also speak very good Tagalog—the Batangueño variety. Of the two, it is Lara who speaks and reads Asi; Lilac, only haltingly. We speak Asi when we are with Romblomanons, whether they are from Looc or from Sibuyan.
The rest of Ambring’s letter is more of an exhortation to his fellow Simaranhons to use Asi. It is reproduced below without any more comments. Notice the Asi language in its full-bodied flavor and you will understand why the it has no equal.
“Simaranhon, ako ay napati nak ka ako ging mukyatan nak rilang Asi ay dapat palanggaon ag gamiton sa tama: kung ka kaatubang ay nakakaintindi et Asi, meski sa lugar nak ka rila ay Tagalog, English, o nio man, ay Asi nak rila ka mitlangon. Kung enggwa sa grupo et buko Asi ag nakikipag-bayduhan et estorya ay gamiton kung nio ka tama nak rila basi sa kung nio ka tama para magkaka-intindihan.
“Kabay pang ka ako kapwa Simaranhon sa tunga et mga pagbabag-o nak raya et pagyukas et mga tuig ag pagyakot-yakot et kultura/sibilisasyon ay e-angkla sa sarili ka rilang Simaranhon Asi, gamiton et tama sa Simara ag riin mang lugar.
“Aya nato gi limti, aya nato gi isli; kupkupa nato et hugot kaling ato sariling rila ag ato ipakilaya nak kali ay ato rilang ging mukyatan; mana nato sa ato mga ninuno ag kailangan nak ipagmarako ag siguraduhon nak perming makusog; gamiton/mitlangon sa tanang sitwasyon nak tama.
“Sa punto et pagkakausa, ka sariling rila ay rako ka maibubulig bilang pagkilaya et ka-grupo/ka-lugar/ging halinan, pero ka hugot nak pagkakausa ay buko yang sa pagmitlang et sariling rila naka-angkla.
“Kung ikaw ay anak et parehong Asi, ag daok ka et rilang Asi dahil sa ibang lugar ka naging tawo, nag-estar, ag nagka-enggwa et sariling pamilya ag 'ya ka gi turo-e et Asi ay maaari ra gihapon nak magrawat et pagkakausa sa lugar et imo mga maguyang/ninunong Asi kung ayam nimo ag ging tataw-an et balor ka inra/imo ging halinan.
“Ka mahapri sa suyok-suyok ag nakakalipong et buha ay kung purong Asi ag bisayahan nimo et Asi ay ibang rila ka isabat sa imo, o kung hagto mismo sa sariling isla nak Asi ka rila ay ibang rila pa gihapon ka inahuguran nak mitlangon, o meski ayam ka rilang Asi sa diretsuhang mitlang ay nag-iinuta dahil sa pagyakot it ibang rila—Asi-Taglish—o pag-gamit et estelong "text messaging" meski buko sa "text messaging" nak sitwasyon.
“Kaling pagkakausa ay malip-ot nak mitlangon pero meski sa mga pareho ka rila, maisot nak islang ging halinan, ay mahirap maruntoy; ayam kali nato, lalo ey kitang mga atunanon nak enggwa et naiisip ag naghihimo et mga patikang para sa kaanduan nak pangkaramuan nak waya yakot nak pansariling puntariya ag politika.
“Ka pagkakausa et pila ay indi masisiling nak pagkakausa et bug-os nak lugar—halimbawa, Simara—kung ka karamuang Simaranhon ay waya girarawat et pagkakausa tungor sa pangkaramuang programa, proyekto, ag pag-bulig meski puro Asi ka natutungran.”
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