Tactical error

The senators belonging to the minority bloc must now reassess their tactical moves in the Senate. Many concerned people are beginning to think that they are obstructionists whose agenda is to prevent the country from moving forward.. The continuing filibuster of Senator Sergio Osmeña III, for instance, is considered as very negative, something that should not be done during these harshest and cruelest times.

Serge Osmeña’s problem is that the points he is raising, as he speaks for hours on end at the Senate floor, are so insignificant. They do not involve the national interest, and they do not at all contribute to the task of uplifting the lives of our people. It is sad that Serge who, until very recently, was perceived as a knight in shining armor, has allowed his image to be smeared and stained, merely because of Senate politics.

What the great majority of people yearn for is for all leaders, most especially the politicians, to set aside their partisan inclinations and begin working together to rehabilitate our economically-battered land. Is this too much to ask at a time when so many million of our countrymen are struggling to survive?

Rachel Holazo is the mother of Xandra Marfori, last year’s winner of the Ramon Magsaysay Student Essay Contest. Xandra’s award from her parents should have been a brief trip to the United States, but the US tour did not go through.

I am going to let Mrs. Holazo, Xandra’s mother, tell STAR readers why Xandra did not get her promised reward. Let us listen to her:

The man behind the glass window made signs with his right forefinger in the air. Come over, it said. "Good afternoon," my daughter and I dueted. Our voices blended well mine a little raspy from age, hers, soft and gentle as her youth. The man behind the glass window shot a look at me with eyebrows crossed. With my daughter’s passport and application form in his hand, he fanned the air and said. "This is a plan, you and your family batched, isn’t it?"

Plan? Oh yes, we planned for her to travel to the US. "This is a plan, you and your family hatched for her to live there, isn’t it?" A plan to live there? Oh, no, we don’t have such plan. His head cocked from right to left. "All of you," he said, sweeping the air with his hand indicating all the visa applications standing in front of a row of glass windows, "all of you have plans not to come back."

Whaaam, I dodged my head backward. I didn’t know where that ball came from. He turned to my daughter. "What is your purpose in going there?" Oh, good, we know the answer to this one. "I just graduated from high school and my family gifted me with a US tour. While there, I can attend my cousin’s wedding," daughter answered with youthful openness. "You are making that up, you don’t even know this person." he insinuated.

"She’s my first cousin, yes, I know her," my daughter answered calmly. "Have you met her?" "Yes, she has visited us many times?" "How old is she?" "T...t...tw," my daughter stuttered. Twenty-eight, I offered. Ignoring me, he glared and hissed, "you don’t know her." Whaaam, there’s that ball again. How do you disprove that. An old photo of me playing with my niece climbing trees in the farm? We didn’t even bring those photos. "What do you do for a living?" he turned to me. I’ am an artist, ah, I paint. "Paint what? he barked. This exchange lasted, maybe, fifteen minutes. He kept looking at his computer as I was answering his questions. I sensed he was not listening.

He asked us to sit down, muttering something like consulting the real consul at the backroom. As we took our seats, all eyes followed us. Those who met mine asked questions in silence, not as a deaf-mute would but more like that of my dog, longingly asking if I will throw him a spare rib.

As we sat, my daughter whispered to me that there’s a leak in the airconditioning pipes. "There’s a stain in the ceiling, mommy." Indeed, there was. Yes, I see a drip on the floor. A voice called out what seemed to be my daughter’s name, breaking my three-minute reverie. We faced the man at the glass window again.

"Did you bring any financial documents?" Ah, yes. My family took the trouble to prepare that. Confidently, I handed him a sheaf of papers. His head jerked just slightly as he scanned the American Express Gold Card statement of account. "What’s this?" he said, dismissing the notarized, official documents. Those are my sister’s. She’s my daughter’s godmother and the mother of the bride. She’s financing my daughter’s trip.

He shook his head and mumbled without looking at me straight. "I cannot give you a visa. You did not pass the requirements." Whahhatt? Half-stunned, half-paranoid, is it because of me? "No, no, it’s not you, don’t blame yourself," this consul tried to console me. But you are depriving my daughter of the offer to travel. "Your daughter can reapply again." But why? Why would she need to reapply again. "Well, other consul may see her case differently." But this is her time to travel. Why not now?

This time, he looked at me with dagger eyes and spewed out, "because YOU FILIPINOS ARE NOT LIKE THE JAPANESE!"

Whaaam. That ball really came from left field. I staggered clinging to the glass window. Why, Japanese. I, a Filipino, should be a Japanese? "Our government waived the visa requirement to the Japanese because UNLIKE YOU FILIPINOS, THE JAPANESE CAN BE TRUSTED." My mind started to dim. This is like a scene from twilight zone. Rapid flashes turned in my head of Pearl Harbor, of national discipline and the ‘what if the Japanese won the war’ arguments, of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and of Americans coming back. A little too late for us to be like the Japanese, isn’t it? Moreover, it took a thousand years more and more to make a Japanese. Perhaps, we can begin by wiping out the three generations or so weaned by the Americans. Oh, dear, that includes me. My daughter and I were so unprepared and so unguarded to take the air and insults from this man.. But she takes the fall because we Filipinos are. On the other hand, must the Americans resort to affronts and slurs? There’s no need to berate if they mean to get the business going. From the fees alone, the embassy rakes in about $33,000 day (or P1.5 million pesos?). The money can pay for the tripled Filipino security force, for the staff’s salary, for the drinks at five-star hotels. Maybe, it has to make more to pay for the leaking ceiling.

My daughter and I took the flight home to Davao as fast as the twenty some years I defended the American Flag from the barbs thrown at it by some friends rolled in my head. My daughter wakes me up, "Mommy, your friends may be right, after all."

Thoughts For Today:

You may not know
where life’s road leads you,
just keep moving.
God is walking with you!

Sunrise makes our mornings beautiful,
but the Word of God strengthens us
and makes our lives more meaningful.
Smile, enjoy life and take care!

My e-mail addresses: [email protected]and [email protected]