I rarely — if at all — care about the movements among big business and oligarchs, except when they are in cahoots with government and China to push for anti-people policies, and of course when the issue at hand is one that is about oppressing workers, demolishing the urban poor, and / or violating basic rights. And in this country, we’ve got a lot of that.

But this bit about what has happened since George Ty’s death in November 2018, via Vic Agustin’s Money Go Round column in the Inquirer, piqued my interest. On the surface, and admittedly, it was this narrative of two wives — one Filipino, one Chinese — that made it hard to ignore. (One wonders why Mother Lily isn’t making this into a Mano Po film yet, harhar.) But a bit of research on Ty, and one realizes that what has actually hung in the balance since Ty’s death are far more important: (1) thousands of Filipino jobs, (2) billions of pesos in people’s investments and savings, and (3) the national and global business conglomerate of the ninth richest man in the Philippines.

Even more surprising? If not suspicious, is how it seems like it’s being kept quiet, this whole Ty Estate crisis. Because after it filled mainstream news in February 2019, suddenly there was complete silence about what’s been going on. Save for Agustin’s June 2019 piece, there is practically nothing. No credible status update about Ty’s estate, a silence that puts at risk everyone that works and invests with GT Capital, but also puts at risk the credibility of the whole Ty conglomerate.

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No, I don’t think Duterte is scared of China.

I think that he and his men entered into agreements with China, they signed on for projects and the Belt and Road Initiative, and now cannot even take a stand against whatever aggression our fishermen experience from the Chinese in West Philippines Sea. Government (i.e., the Philippines) is so deep in China deals that it has become difficult to even speak. Utang na loob is one of the more effective forms of silencing for Filipinos after all, and China — cunning as it is — doesn’t even need to invoke it; they just know someone like Duterte would feel so indebted there would be no way he would be able to take a stand.

Government propagandists call it “diplomacy.” But let’s assess this situation for what it is: Duterte put all his eggs in the China basket, and now he can’t even find his balls.

Here’s the ironic part though: China has realized that it doesn’t matter that they hold Duterte by the balls. It doesn’t matter because it doesn’t mean they can do all that they want with and in the Philippines. What it’s up against is the rest of us. And Philippine democracy — no matter how it’s been discredited and put into question by the success of Duterte propaganda — still has its balls intact. (more…)

The news has (rightfully) been taken over by the fact that a China Maritime Militia (CMM) vessel, where the CMM is “a subset of China’s national militia, an armed reserve force of civilians available for mobilization to perform basic support duties,” also “a fighting force on the front-line of China’s quest to control the seas.”

But so many things (as always) are happening across the country: activists and human rights advocates are being killed, Mangyan communities are being bombed.

And then there’s Malipay. An urban poor community in Bacoor Cavite which yesterday experienced violence in the hands of armed security and demolition personnel hired by the developers who want to destroy their homes and takeover their land.

To the Malipay community, the perpetrators are clear: the developer Vistaland and Lifescapes Inc. That’s the company OWNED by Senator and Duterte-campaign-funder Cynthia Villar, Duterte crony Manny Villar. DPWH Secretary Mark Villar. (more…)

If there is a lesson to be learned from the outcome of the 2019 elections, it is this: the Duterte machine — guns, goons, gold, plus propaganda — is a success, by ALL counts, and it doesn’t even matter that chief propagandist Mocha didn’t get a seat in Congress.

It has succeeded because we were all oblivious to, decidedly ignoring, all the signs that this leadership would move hell and high water to get the Senate and Congress it needs to continue, Presidential ill-health and worsening poverty and discontent notwithstanding. To be clear: the election results are not a referendum on Duterte — there was enough irregularity, questions of fraud, massive vote buying to disabuse us of that (— it’s so bad Duterte himself has pretty much admitted to fraud.)

But the fact that they were able to get those Senators proclaimed despite all those irregularities, with nary-a-difficult-to-ignore public outcry, that is the referendum we should be looking at. It is also the “referendum” of the past three years. The truth is, beyond the count, we had let Duterte and his people get away with “rigging” this election, so to speak, ensuring a win, no matter how well the opposition(s) campaigned and how much money they put out (think Bam Aquino and Mar Roxas).

Talo na tayo sa eleksyong ito bago pa man tayo bumoto, bago pa man magsimulang magbilang ang COMELEC. We were losing long before campaign season, long before people even declared their intention to run. In fact, by the time we realized there was a slate we could all get behind, we had already lost. How? Let us count the ways.

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Here’s a piece I wrote in 2011 on Kin Misa’s work, which I think now was ahead of its time, but what do I know, what do we know really, about life and death, rejection and struggle, except to try and make do, make from, make regardless of everything else that happens around us, until it is time to say no. Let it go.

Here’s to you Kin. Happy trails. — Ina. 

The end of the (art) world in Kin Misa’s online exhibit

There’s never reason to go online before seeing an exhibit as far as I’m concerned. This means being blown away by fantastic work when I least expect it, at the same time that it means coming across horrid exhibits that I travel two (or five) cities for. Always, I allow myself to be floored. Yes, that’s me living on the edge. But what of an exhibit that only happens online, for reasons that are about what’s real and concrete, and about creativity and imagination? What happens when an exhibit rejects my notion(s) of art spectatorship, as it rejects the usual audience, doesn’t get the standard patrons, won’t follow the rules — spoken and otherwise — for art and exhibition in this country? What happens is rust and color by multimedia artist Kin Misa.  (more…)