How Secular Carmelites can embody the Rule of St. Albert today

 + April 23, 2026

First, a reminder: the Rule of St. Albert was written for hermits on Mount Carmel—not for people with traffic, deadlines, family duties, and mobile phones. So if a Secular Carmelite tries to “copy” it literally, it quickly becomes unworkable.  But if we read it for its spirit rather than its structure, something beautiful happens: the Rule becomes not only possible in the world—it becomes deeply relevant.  The following translates that spirit into ordinary, lived experience:

                                            Living the Carmelite Rule in the midst of the world

The Rule of St. Albert, given in the early 13th century by St. Albert of Jerusalem, was never meant to be a rigid system of external observances. Even within the text itself, there is a quiet flexibility—“see that the bounds of common sense are not exceeded.”

That line alone opens a path for those who live not in cloisters, but in cities, homes, and workplaces. For Secular Carmelites, the question is not: How do I replicate monastic life?  But rather: How do I let this Rule shape my heart where I already stand?

1. Allegiance to Christ: the center of everything

The Rule begins not with practices, but with identity: a life of allegiance to Jesus Christ.  For a Secular Carmelite, this means cultivating an interior orientation—a quiet but steady turning toward Christ throughout the day. It is less about adding more devotions and more about deepening intention:  offering the day upon waking; remembering God in small pauses; letting decisions be guided by the Gospel

In a crowded schedule, allegiance becomes fidelity in the small: answering kindly, choosing honesty, forgiving quickly. The battlefield is interior, but the fruits are visible.

2. The ‘cell’ in the city: interior solitude

The hermit’s cell (Chapter 6 & 10) is central to the Rule. But for those in the world, the “cell” becomes an interior space.  It may take simple forms: a quiet corner at home, a regular time for mental prayer, a habit of recollection even in noise.  The deeper call is this: to carry within oneself a place where God is always awaited.

Here, the Carmelite tradition helps us. St. Teresa of Avila speaks of the Interior Castle, reminding us that the true monastery is within. Likewise, St. John of the Cross teaches that silence is not merely external, but a clearing of attachments so God may speak.

3. Prayer without ceasing—adapted, not abandoned

The Rule prescribes the Divine Office or repeated prayers. A Secular Carmelite may not pray all the canonical hours, but the rhythm of prayer remains essential.  This can take a realistic yet faithful form: morning and evening prayer (Liturgy of the Hours if possible), daily mental prayer (the heart of Carmelite life), and brief recollections during the day.  The goal is not quantity but continuity—a thread of prayer woven through ordinary life.

4. Poverty and simplicity in a consumer world

The Rule’s call to hold all things in common (Chapter 12) translates into detachment.  For Secular Carmelites, this does not necessarily mean giving up possessions, but transforming one’s relationship to them: living simply, avoiding excess, practicing generosity, and resisting the pull of constant consumption. It is a quiet protest against a culture that equates worth with wealth. Poverty becomes freedom of heart.

5. Obedience as discernment, not control

In the monastery, obedience is expressed through the Prior. In secular life, it becomes attentiveness to God’s will through: Church teaching, one’s vocation (family, professional duties), spiritual guidance, and the promptings of conscience.  True obedience is not passive submission but active listening—a willingness to respond to God even when it costs something.

6. Work as sacred participation

Chapter 20 insists on work—not only to avoid idleness, but as a participation in God’s creative action.  For Secular Carmelites: professional work becomes offering, household tasks become prayer, service becomes encounter.  The desk, the kitchen, the classroom, wherever we work—all become places where God is quietly served.

7. Silence in a noisy world

The Rule’s strong emphasis on silence may seem impossible today. Yet its wisdom is more urgent than ever.  Silence, for the Secular Carmelite, may look like: limiting unnecessary noise (including digital noise); guarding speech—speaking less, but with intention; and creating moments of stillness each day.  Silence is not emptiness; it is space for God.

8. Community without cloister

The early hermits gathered regularly for Eucharist and fraternal correction (Chapter 14–15).  For Secular Carmelites, community is lived through: regular meetings with the Carmelite community, participation in the Eucharist, mutual support and accountability.  Even in a dispersed life, one does not walk alone.

9. Spiritual warfare: awareness and vigilance

The Rule speaks vividly of the struggle against evil (Chapter 18). This remains unchanged.  Modern life may disguise it, but the battle persists: distractions that pull us from prayer, attachments that dull our desire for God, subtle discouragement or complacency.  The armor remains the same: faith, Scripture, love, and vigilance.

10. Moderation: the key to fidelity

The Rule’s final chapter reminds us that common sense guides virtue.  This is crucial for Secular Carmelites. Overloading oneself with practices can lead not to holiness, but to exhaustion. The Rule invites: balance, sustainability, and faithfulness over intensity.  Holiness grows not in bursts, but in steady, hidden fidelity.

Conclusion: A desert in the heart

The Rule of St. Albert does not ask Secular Carmelites to leave the world.  It asks them to transform their presence within it.  In the end, the Carmelite vocation is not defined by place, but by presence—a life lived: in allegiance to Christ, in interior silence, in loving attention to God

Even in the busiest streets of the city, the Carmelite still stands near the “spring on Mount Carmel”—because that spring has been discovered within.  And from that hidden spring, everything else quietly flows. +

Mahiya naman tayo!

One line at President Marcos’ SONA hit like a thunderclap that’s still echoing until now: “Mahiya naman kayo!”

He was speaking directly to those in power—politicians, government officials and their private-sector partners—who had been exposed for corruption in flood control projects. The kickbacks, the SOPs, the “for the boys” arrangements, the padded contracts, the ghost projects, the shameless diversion of public funds while communities drowned in floodwaters.  And for once, many Filipinos felt that someone in power had finally said what needed saying.  

It was raw and direct—and it worked. “Mahiya naman kayo!” triggered investigations.  More names surfaced, implicating even public servants we never expected would be involved.  Public outrage exploded on social media, which since has called for accountability, jail time, heads to roll, and for justice without mercy.  “Ikulong na yan!”  “Patayin ang mga buwayang naka-barong!”  The anger was loud and understandable.  

We needed to hear that rebuke. Those who steal from public coffers while ordinary people suffer deserve to be held accountable—they deserve the full weight of the law.  But let me be honest, as one who has watched this cycle repeat for decades: shaming and jailing the corrupt is not enough.

We have grown too comfortable with the small corruptions we commit every day.  We slip an extra bill to the government clerk “para mapabilis ang approval”.  We request the traffic enforcer to “make it lighter” and then hand over our driver’s license cheerfully with “Pangkape lang, bossing!”  We tweak our income tax returns to save a little, or look the other way when a relative or friend uses “connections” to get ahead.  We convince ourselves that these are just small, practical things—“everybody does it.”

These “small, practical” acts don’t make headlines, but they are not harmless. They slowly corrode our character and normalize the idea that bending the rules for personal convenience is acceptable.  Once that mindset takes root, and we become complacent about our own little compromises, we lose the moral ground to demand integrity from others.  Complacency corrupts.  We become part of the very system we love to condemn.

The truth is, our nation is not only made up of those who govern. It is also made up of those who are governed. Corruption thrives not only because some politicians have lost all shame—it thrives because too many of us have become comfortable living with shame in measured doses, participating in the same broken culture, even in small ways.

The President’s words were a necessary wake-up call for those in power.  But while we rightly cry out “Mahiya naman kayo!” to the exposed and the powerful, it is time we also hear a quieter, sharper challenge directed at ourselves: “Mahiya naman tayo.”

I’m not defending the corrupt or saying we are all equally guilty. This is about refusing to stay in the comfortable illusion that the problem belongs only to “them.” Real change will not begin and end in Malacañang or the Senate. It begins the moment each of us decides to stop feeding the very system we complain about.  This is a call to move beyond outrage and selective anger, toward consistent personal accountability. Only then will “Mahiya naman kayo!” carry real weight—not just as a rebuke to the guilty, but also as a turning point for the whole country.

“Mahiya naman tayo!” may not make headlines but it is a radical call to authenticity in following Christ.  We Filipinos love to call ourselves “the biggest Christian nation in Asia”—we say it with pride, but we hardly live it in humility.  We quote Scripture when it suits us, but we rarely live it in the hard places—in our daily choices, in our small transactions, in what we do when no one is watching.  

If we are serious about healing this land, then we must go deeper. We must stop pretending the problem belongs only to the government or to the corrupt officials we see in the news. We must look in the mirror and begin the real work—the uncomfortable, radical work—of personal repentance and change.  (Spoiler alert: I’m going preachy, and doing it with open eyes and a thick hide.)

As the Lord Himself declared in Scripture: “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:14).  Do we really believe this promise?  Believe enough to print “Mahiya naman tayo!” on our t-shirts, umbrellas, coffee mugs, key chains?  Will we post it as a battle cry on social media and hope it goes viral? 

This is the radical path we have avoided for too long. More than just outrage or demands for others to change—we need genuine humility, honest prayer in silence.  Not a self-assured silence that tells us all is well, but a silence where we allow God to speak—to reveal the “small” ways we have normalized corruption, not only in our country but in our souls. 

Only then will “Mahiya naman kayo!” move beyond being a powerful soundbite and become a true turning point for our nation.  Mahiya kaya tayo? The question is no longer whether the corrupt officials will feel shame.  The real question is whether we will.  And that’s the truth.

/Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS

Justice, grace, and Rodrigo Duterte

Some readers have been asking why I have been silent on the arrest of Rodrigo Duterte, now detained in The Hague.  My simple answer: I have already said what needed to be said—many times, over many years.

During his presidency, I did not hold back. In this very same column, I wrote about the “red flags” I had spotted—his foul language, his public boasting, his misogyny, his irreverence.  I commented on his narcissism, his arrogance, his disrespect for authority, his mockery of God and His Church, his habit of uttering shocking statements about serious issues and then saying he’s “only joking” when called out. 

Because of his vulgarity and profound lack of statesmanship—cussing world leaders at press conferences—I even called him a “Pambansang Kahihiyan”, a national embarrassment no Filipino should be proud of.  I decried his dangerous flirting with CCP/China as if the Philippines were his own backyard to use like gambling chips. I doubted his patriotism, and wasn’t amused when he “joked” that the Philippines would be better off becoming a province of China.

His promise to rid the country of the drug problem in six months I dismissed as pure braggadocio, reflecting a profound ignorance of national governance that blinded him to the tragedy he was unleashing.  I said it was an impossible promise that would humble him in the end, but he was unrelenting.  “I will kill you” seemed to be his mantra, uttered to prove his sincerity in “making the country safe for the Filipinos” by waging his so-called war on drugs.  I pointed out the red flags until I got tired, and I said, “Like a fish he will be caught by his own mouth.”

Now the “strongman” is at The Hague, facing charges of crimes against humanity.  It’s been a year since his arrest.  We all know what that means. But if some are waiting for me to say, “I told you so,” they will be disappointed.

If there is anything left to be said, it is this: the fall of any man, no matter how powerful, is never a thing to celebrate lightly. It is, at its core, a deeply human tragedy. The image of a former president detained far from home is not a trophy for critics, nor a spectacle for public consumption. Rather, it’s a sobering indictment—not only of one man, but of a political culture that tolerated, even applauded, what should have been questioned from the very beginning.

For those who cheer him as victim, this moment invites reflection. For those who oppose him as predator, it calls for restraint. And for all of us, Duterte’s arrest is a reminder that leadership, stripped of humility and accountability, carries within it the seeds of its own undoing.

Let the courts do their work.  Let the evidence speak.  And let us, as a people, examine not only the man now detained, but the conditions that allowed his rise, his rhetoric, and his methods to flourish.

At The Hague, clamor still surrounds Duterte.  I choose not to add to the din.  Instead, I pray.  I pray that he may be granted good health, and the time to face not only the charges before a human court, but the deeper reckoning within his own conscience. I pray that he may come to see, as he stands naked before God, the full measure of his actions. Most of all I pray that he may yet find the grace to repent and turn back to God.  In the end, that may be the least, and perhaps the most, I can do. For beyond politics, beyond justice systems and public opinion, there remains the quiet, unyielding truth that no life is beyond redemption—and no story is finished until it is placed in the hands of God.  And that’s the truth. 

Kiko and Lean

In Philippines my Philippines, Congress is like a grand theater where microphones are plentiful but patience is scarce.  The “plays” here can amuse you, annoy or delight you, make you feel stupid for watching, make you think the actors are stupid for acting—but they will not leave you untouched. And in this theater, two freshman congressmen have recently discovered what every rookie eventually learns: legislation is slow, but grandstanding is instant.

Enter Leandro  “Lean” Leviste and Francisco “Kiko” Barzaga, both new to the chamber and, judging by the decibel level of their appearances, very eager to make sure the chamber—and the public—knows it.

Lean comes on like a well-rehearsed TED Talk in a barong—measured tone, earnest gaze, and the unmistakable air of someone who believes Congress is still primarily a college forum for ideas, an amphitheater for Davids to put down Goliaths. He first caught the limelight when he exposed an attempted bribery (which of course he rejected), and the public was quick to hail him as a hero of sorts. It helped that he had that look of wide-eyed innocence about him, but his actions related to his second “expose”—the so-called Cabral files—have led many to question if he is at all that innocent. Otherwise, why is he acting as he’s acting?   

Kiko, on the other hand, favors a more kinetic approach. Why merely speak when you can perform? His style suggests that Congress is not just a legislative body but a live-action drama, where passion must be projected to the last row, and indignation is best served hot, loud, and spiced with a little pa-cutesie: meow-meowing to the camera to the delight of his fans.  On the floor he’s like a “kanto boy” in coat and tie; in social media he’s just as “astig”.  He got suspended for 60 days for conduct unbecoming a public servant—dapat lang! 

Let me digress a bit: five of his colleagues objected to that suspension, saying it was too harsh a penalty for such light offenses.  Obviously, those objectors are not future-oriented, unable to see the possible effect that Barzaga’s “kabastusan” could create in young minds. 

This reminds me of a practice in the Philippine countryside which illustrates the wisdom and the justice in considering the future when it comes to penalties.  If you run over a hen, you don’t just pay its owner the market value of that fowl—you are charged much more, because you must pay as well for the eggs she could have laid. 

Public servants are supposed to embody a sense of propriety and delicadeza precisely because their behavior sets the tone for the community. When a lawmaker publicly behaves in ways that demean the dignity of the office, the damage is not merely personal—it is institutional and intergenerational.  Does Kiko care at all for the impressionable minds in his audience?  If you go light on him today, expect to see countless Kiko clones tomorrow.

Back to Kiko and Lean.  Both men—or boys—seem to believe that visibility equals velocity.  They share the same rookie instinct: both don’t want to wait to be noticed.  They are congressmen but instead of focusing on lawmaking they’re behaving like rabble rousers.  Maybe they think that creating bills may take years, while press conferences and viral clips take minutes. 

Okay, maybe they mean well, they may even be driven by youthful idealism, young as they are, but one can’t help thinking these guys are grandstanding.  To be fair, grandstanding is practically a rite of passage. Congress all over the world has always been a cross between a lawmaking body and an audition stage. The difference is that Lean and Kiko are auditioning not just for their colleagues, but for algorithms.  I imagine them rehearsing their lines, with their staff hovering nearby, hissing, “ Sir, that line will trend!”

Their styles and approach to grandstanding may be worlds apart but they seem to have something in common: ambition.  (Yes, I’m being “judgmental”. But I’m only judging the image they’re projecting, not their person.  They’re exposing themselves in media, they’ll be judged through the lenses of media). Congress has always attracted ambition; what is unusual today is not ambition itself, but how early it now introduces itself—fully dressed, mic’d up, and ready for prime time.

Both Kiko and Lean are highly visible, and both are apparently convinced that the first order of business is not quiet mastery of the legislative process but early brand definition.  

Lean presents himself as the thoughtful reformist-in-training: often articulate, composed, and sounding like the reasonable adult in the room—as long as no one ruffles his feathers. His interventions feel less like legislative participation and more like positioning statements—carefully crafted to signal national leadership qualities rather than district-level concerns. I get the impression that each appearance is auditioning not only for colleagues, but for some future debate stage with a much larger audience.  (After all, didn’t Digong once flatter him by referring to him as a future president?  The seed of ambition, planted).

Kiko’s approach suggests that leadership is best established through intensity—strong words, strong emotions, “masa” appeal, and the urgency of someone determined not to be overlooked.  He’ll say what he wants to say, when and how to say it, bully whom he fancies, and never mind about GMRC (good manners and right conduct).  He has also revealed his plan to file an impeachment complaint against the President. This to me sounds more like strategy—such a bold move by a newbie congressman confers instant national visibility, regardless of whether the case proceeds.  When a newcomer leaps immediately to the highest possible confrontation, it is often read not as courage alone, but as pre-mature self-positioning—a signal that the future being imagined is larger than the office currently held.

Where Lean projects “presidential calm,” Kiko projects “presidential fire.”  Different styles, same subtext: “Notice me now, remember me later.”  What unites them is not ideology, but timing. This early in their congressional careers, both appear less focused on the slow, unglamorous work of legislation and more on keeping a high profile. Committee diligence does not trend. Amendments do not go viral. But a well-timed speech—especially one that flatters public frustration—travels fast and ages well for future campaign reels.

To seasoned observers, their behavior reads less like youthful enthusiasm and more like pre-positioning. The House floor becomes a rehearsal space, each appearance a subtle reminder that these young men are thinking far beyond their current mandates. District representation becomes secondary to national recognizability; governance, a backdrop to ambition.

Is ambition a sin in politics?  Of course, no!  The concern arises when ambition outruns responsibility—when the performance of leadership substitutes for the practice of it. The danger is not that these freshmen dream big, but that they may skip the necessary apprenticeship that turns aspiration into competence.

Perhaps, with time, Lean will loosen his tie, and Kiko will lower his volume, and both greenhorns will allow Congress to shape them more than they shape their image. Perhaps both will learn that the dull art of compromise is where actual change happens. Until then, the House floor remains well-lit, the microphones are on, and the freshmen, determined not to waste their moment, make sure the cameras are rolling.  And that’s the truth.

 

A call to Filipino Catholics from St. Teresa of Avila

By Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS

Filipinos are a prayerful people. We light candles, wear scapulars, carry statues in processions. We pray novenas for our families, our jobs, our sick relatives. But in this time of political turmoil and growing division, when lies spread faster than truth—and when TikTok is fast becoming the “opium of the masses”—is this really all we are called to do?

St. Teresa of Avila says: No.    A mystic and reformer, she did not hide in her cell when her Church was in crisis. “The world is on fire. It is not time to treat with God about things of little importance,” she wrote.  She lived during the violent upheavals of the Reformation, when priests were corrupt, the people were confused, and the Church itself seemed under attack. She could have kept quiet in the safety of the convent; instead, she prayed, then she acted.

She spent hours in contemplation, then rose from prayer to deal with, bishops, nobles, Church politics, petty nuns, outright opposition and even the Spanish Inquisition. As she founded convents she travelled by rickety carriages and slept in rat-infested inns.  She wrote books that still shake the world.  She saw—and taught— that prayer without action becomes self-indulgent, and action without prayer becomes vanity.

Many Filipinos are “religious,” but is our faith mature?  We go all out for fiestas but are stingy with our time alone with God. We help the poor but do not want to be poor ourselves. We wear religious medals while tolerating corruption. We pray for truth and justice, but refuse to speak up when our leaders lie. We ask God to protect our families, but close our eyes when others suffer injustice.  Is this faith, or just comfort?

The world is on fire—and the Philippines is not spared.  St. Teresa says: now is not the time to pray only for small things. It is time to pray with eyes open to the suffering around us. It is time to grow up in faith—to seek truth, work for justice, and be brave in the face of manipulation and disinformation.  If you love God, get to know what is happening to His people. Listen beyond your echo chamber. Be aware.  Read. Ask. Pray. Speak. Act.  Let us be contemplatives in action.  Let us not pray for safety when what we need is courage.  As St. Teresa’s example shows, the holiest people are not the ones who pray the longest, but the ones who love the hardest and serve the bravest.  And that’s the truth.

 

Reviving the blog

Today, which marks the 509th birth anniversary of St. Teresa of Avila, i intend to revive this blog which has been dormant for various reasons (including the Covid-19 isolation) although i had not stopped writing for other media.  I will enable the Comments here to welcome all your comments.  For Truth's sake let's do this together!  

Life after elections

Two days after the midterm elections, the air still crackles with comments and complaints about the conduct of the democratic exercise—mostly revolving around the disconnect between Comelec’s claim of the “successful and peaceful” election and the voters’ contrary observation regarding the 600 malfunctioning vote-counting machines (VCM). 

Whether our bets won or lost, we will all continue losing if we dismiss these irregularities as “normal”, especially since the deals with Smartmatic have long been under question.  These are worse than mere “technical glitches”, because it’s human beings, not machines that close deals leading to such unfortunate developments.  And like it or not, they sow doubt and suspicion in the mind of voters.  

Would you not smell something fishy that the malfunctions and the delays in the transmission of results, et al, would be explained away by a simple “Java error”, or “walang signal” in the area?  Or by the claim that the SD cards were “defective” because they were “not bundled with the Smartmatic package?”  Maybe we can shrug off a dozen or so malfunctioning VCM as lemons, but not 600!  A monumental amount of 10.18 billion pesos of taxpayers’ money was allotted to COMELEC for this year—voters deserve explanations, not excuses that insult their intelligence.  Those involved should be transparent and open their documents for public scrutiny—or risk repeating the same rotten mistakes.

On the upside?  Political dynasties have reportedly been toppled, with former Goliaths downed by emerging Davids.  Really?  Look again—four members of the Marcos clan won in Ilocos Norte; and the Cayetanos are lording it over in Taguig.  And aren’t the newly elected leaders mostly descendants of TRAPOS, too?  Wait a few years—

dynasties die hard.

Lest we forget that life goes on outside of our puny political concerns, we turn our attention to “the world outside”, recall the news and read the message behind events.

At the beginning of this year, on January 27, the Our Lady of Mount Carmel cathedral in Jolo was bombed, killing 22 worshippers, as Mass was being celebrated.  Last Easter Sunday, three churches in Sri Lanka were attacked, again killing worshippers that numbered to hundreds.  Last May 12, during Mass, an attack on a Catholic church in central Burkina Faso left six persons dead, including the priest; it was the third attack on a church in five weeks in that country.

In Germany, at least eight churches have been vandalized and damaged since early April.  Apparently random attacks have also been noted in Scotland, England,  Poland, Spain, Italy and Austria, and continued attacks on churches in France have been reported  despite the national outpouring of grief that followed the fire that devastated Notre Dame Cathedral April 15.

The sacrilegious acts include the decapitation of a statue of the Virgin Mary; bashing a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus; stealing crucifixes, candlesticks, and consecrated hosts; overturning and smashing statues of Saints; defacing church doors with anti-Catholic slogans; and setting sacristies on fire.

A desecration of a different kind took place during last Easter Mass in the church of San Giovanni in Trieste, Italy, when a man who was receiving communion responded to the traditional formula “the Body of Christ” by saying “Thanks” and then asking “What part of the body is this?”  Before the shocked congregation he walked away, carrying the consecrated host and denouncing the Catholic religion.

For the longest time the Church has been rocked by sex scandals—all over the world priests have had to face charges and allegations of pedophilia and sexual abuse.  The Church has had to defrock high-profile Cardinals for the same offenses, and during the summit on clerical sex abuse held in Rome last February, Pope Francis promised an end to cover ups.

So what’s new?  Such scandals as recorded in history books have been there since time immemorial, but now with the internet and social media, news of one offense is magnified millions of times over, and it hurts the soul in ways that may scar it for life.  What is the Church to do?

“At that time news reached me of the harm being done in France and of the havoc the heretics had caused and how much this miserable sect was growing.  The news distressed me greatly, and as though I could do something or were something, I cried to the Lord and begged Him to remedy this great evil…  The world is on fire.  Men try to condemn Christ once again, as it were, for they bring a thousand false witnesses against Him.  They would raze His church to the ground.   Are we to waste our time asking for things that if God were to give them we’d have one soul less in Heaven?  No…this is no time to treat with God for things of little importance.”

These are the words of the great saint from Avila, Teresa of Jesus.  Today, after almost 500 years, they ring relevant, timely, and true.  Face to face with the attacks on the Body of Christ, do we have more time to waste on our mundane businesses?  Are we to continue trusting in partisan politics and things that lure us away from Christ?  Divorced from the cross of Christ even the most brilliant political platforms on earth cannot save us.  And that’s the truth.   

'Ningas-kugon'

 Are Filipinos that forgiving or are we simply forgetful?

In our Social Studies (in the 50s in my case), we were taught about the destructive habits or attitudes of the Filipinos—the Manana Habit, Talangka Mentality, Filipino Time, Ningas-kugon, Colonial Mentality, etc.  I was too young to care, but being a conscientious pupil, I retained what I learned.  Especially the very graphic explanations of the teacher about the “talangka” (crabs) pulling one another down to clamber to the top of the bucket, and of dried cogon grass bursting into flames and just as quickly dying out.  

Ningas-kugon: short-lived enthusiasm, as grass fire

Over the years, many disappointing experiences with fellow Filipinos would convince me that those bad habits we heard about in elementary school somehow do have basis in fact.  In our country’s current socio-political situation, for instance, the Ningas-kugon mentality reigns supreme.  Scandalous incidents of national importance would hog the headlines for days or weeks, and then fizzle out even before anything conclusive is reached.  Or is it the public’s interest that wanes through time?

Remember the so-called Mamasapano Massacre, when on January 25,2015, 44 SAF police commandos were slain in the botched anti-terror raid in Maguindanao?  The nation was shocked over the tragedy, and felt betrayed by the government officials who planned the raid.  The public indignation soared when the 44 coffins arrived at the Manila airport and there was no Noynoy to pay respects to them—he was busy attending a car manufacturing event.  Headlines and social media comments burned with righteous anger in sympathy for the bereaved—such a cold-hearted president!  The bloody incident came to be tagged as “SAF 44.” 

Remains of the fallen SAF 44 arrive in Manila

On July 14, 2017, it was reported that former president Benigno Aquino III would face criminal trial over Mamasapano tragedy.  A statement from the investigating body said Ombudsman Conchita Carpio-Morales had ordered Aquino charged with usurpation of authority and violation of the anti-graft and corrupt practices act.

January 25, 2019, on the fourth anniversary of SAF 44, families of the fallen troopers called on the Supreme Court on Padre Faura in Manila to seek justice.  They called on the authorities to act on the case:  “Please notice our pleading because we have been seeking justice for four years now.”  Are they joined in their plea by the public?  It doesn’t seem so.  No sustained reporting from mainstream media; no angry outbursts from netizens.  Why?  The grass has burned out.  Ningas-kugon. 

Who remembers the bank cyber-heist that happened in February 2016?  It involved Bangladesh Bank, the Federal Reserve Bank of New York and the Rizal Commercial Banking Corporation (RCBC) in the Philippines.  Reactions to the news smacked of warnings, and not a few bank clients feared for their money.  There followed televised hearings (in aid of legislation?), which the man on the street found upsetting if not incredible—for how can something that big happen when Philippine banks are so strict?  Even opening an ordinary savings account with one-thousand pesos would require the client to fill up so many papers with personal information.  How much more if the new accounts involved millions of US dollars?  After the initial furor, the case was forgotten.   

Until January 10, 2019, when the RCBC branch ex-manager Maia Santos-Deguito was reported guilty in the $81-million Bangladesh Bank heist.  The news said Makati Regional Trial court Branch 149 Presiding Judge Cesar Untalan found Deguito guilty beyond reasonable doubt of violating the Anti-Money Laundering Act.  Again it raised eyebrows, even in banking circles, where “everybody knows a mere branch manager cannot do such things on her own.”  Some believe there’s a cover up somewhere, and that Deguito was persuaded to be tied to the whipping post for a huge consolation sum.  Whatever, the fire seems to have gone out—the people who were alarmed before continue to use banks to safekeep their money.  And those with money to burn go on burning it away in our casinos.

Another half-forgotten scandal: the alleged role of the Bureau of Customs in the shipment from China  on May 17, 1017 of illegal drugs worth over six billion pesos.  On record as containing “kitchenware”, the container with methamphetamine was reportedly passed through the green lane, escaping the xray scanning—a violation of BoC protocol.  The Senate and House hearings invited so many “persons of interest” and disclosed names of companies and individuals (including the president’s son Paolo Duterte) implicated in the shipment, some of them Chinese.  Again, the public reaction was one of outrage. 

On September 5, 2018, the news said “The government has lost its drug transportation case over the 6.4 billion pesos shabu shipment from China that ended up at a warehouse in Valenzuela City, due to double jeopardy… While Taguba and Tan are detained at the Camp Bagong Diwa jail, Richard Tan, whose Hongfei Logistics company leased the warehouse where the shabu was found, and his other Chinese or Taiwanese co-accused remain at large since the Manila RTC ordered their arrest for the drug importation case.”

Now the case seems buried beneath an avalanche of sensational news items.  Should we not be looking deeper into the court decision?  Or at least, gather concerned agencies and citizens to ask, for instance, where the confiscated shabu has gone?  Are the accused still in the country, or have they forever escaped prosecution through the help of Immigration?  We do not want to think ill of our government agencies but circumstances like this make us doubt their sincerity in serving the public.

China's militarization in Philippine territory

Ningas-kugon destroys more than grass—it keeps us in a stupor.  We are quick to say the country is a mess, but are we doing our part to right the wrong being done?  These are but a few of the scandalous things that caused us to burst into flames of anger in the recent past.  If you will peep into history you will see that there have been many more that aroused our ire in the distant past, hindering our growth as a nation, but which we soon forgot—or forgave.  Where is our ningas-kugon mentality leading us to?

One day, about two years ago, we just woke up to find our waters invaded, with artificial islands containing military installations by a bully nation.  We were furious—but didn’t stay so for long.  Last weekend of March we were told that for the first quarter of 2019 alone, more than 600 “Chinese fishing vessels have been recorded surrounding the sandbars of Pag-asa Island.”  That many?  We would be naïve to think these vessels are only after our galunggong—mackerel scad, which, incidentally, they export back to us.  More than just cursing China over its bullying tactics, we should do our homework and intelligently plan to preserve our sovereignty and save our people.  We can’t afford to treat serious matters with our ningas-kugon attitude.  We must keep the fire burning.  Otherwise, Pilipinas might one day wake up to find it is already a province of China.  And that’s the truth.