An incisive view of Maguindanao Massacre 2

The hunt for Zulkifli Bin Hir (alias Marwan) and Abdul Bassit Usman is both moral and legal.  It is the duty of the State to keep its citizens safe from criminals.  The objective was impeccable.  But the execution was terribly flawed.

People are quick to blame "lack of coordination" for the tragedy now called "SAF44".

"COORDINATION" presupposes LOYALTY to and TRUST in those with whom you would coordinate.

If it is true that SecDILG and ChiefPNP were bypassed in a major operational decision, then we should follow the trail of loyalty and trust.  Within the Philippine Govt, this is properly called the "chain of command", where civilian authority is supposed to be superior to military and police. 

At what level does an operation like this require a go signal?  If it is a government operation, then SecDILG and CheifPNP should have at least been informed.  If it was a multi-national (PHI-US) operation, then Noynoy should have known about it.  Purisima was involved with the hunt from the beginning, but since he is suspended, he has no powers to give any go signal, even to a traffic cop. At most, he could function as a consultant.

Dig this:  

• Whoever in the Government did not know of the operation did not have the loyalty and trust of the SAF.
• Somebody made a call regarding operations security, deciding who should and should not be in the loop.  Who made that call?
• Whoever should have known, but denies any knowledge of the operation does not deserve to be in public office.

But the way facts are emerging, it seems that Purisima was more than a consultant.  And the whole operation went waaaay beyond Noynoy or his good friend Alan. It has all the marks of a behest political action op from the US (under cover of USAID).  The objectives were not wrong.  But the execution was terribly flawed. They have no permanent friends, these guys, only permanent interests.  They bypassed Philippine Govt authorities and violated Philippine sovereignty, at the expense of the lives of Filipino "pawns" about whom they could not care less.  

Note how Noynoy and Purisima are beholden to the USA.  Noy left in 1981 after graduation, basked in the security of New England comfort.  The word for him is "AmBoy", his brain wired with "utang na loob" and probably more.  Like his Atenean Dad, he was ripe for sales talk, if not recruitment.

Alan Purisima's training was done mainly in Uncle Sam's turf.

• International Association of Chiefs of Police (IACP) Conference – 2011 in Chicago, Illinois, United States.
• 30th ASEANAPOL Conference – 2010 in Cambodia
• Senior Crisis Management Seminar, conducted by the US Office of Anti-Terrorism Assistance – 2010 in Maryland, Washington, United States.
• Police Administration and Crime Investigation – 2010 in Tokyo, Japan
• Critical Incident Management Course at the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) – 2004 at Louisiana, United States.
• Arson Investigation Course and Post Blast Investigation Course – 1987 at the Louisiana State Police Training Academy, United States.
• Protective Operations Course and Defensive Marksmanship Course, conducted by the Special Training Group, U.S. Government – 1986.

Who wouldn't suspect that he had been recruited somewhere along the way?  They had him in '86, by my reckoning.  Who wouldn't suspect that Alan Purisima's unexplained wealth came not from Filipino taxpayers, but American?

It's a question of LOYALTY AND TRUST.  Make no mistake about it:  Noynoy and Alan are virtual American citizens, loyal to the United States (and beyond that, even Freemasonry).

Now let's look at a global perspective.  What is happening to a wimpy Obama Admin vis-a-vis ISIS is the same thing happening to a wimpy Aquino Admin vis-a-vis the separatist movement.  There can be no PEACE without JUSTICE, and no justice without TRUTH;  no LAW without ENFORCEMENT; and no SOCIAL CHANGE without CULTURAL ACCOMMODATION.  

As a matter of partisan practice, Noynoy was raring to gather the Nobel pogi points for the capture of Marwan and Usman.  But then, pffft!  Even now, official explanations are being spun to broadcast limited versions of the whole truth.

The big question is this:  Why hasn't the foreign media reported the incident?  Either it isn't newsworthy enough ... or the US Embassy had purchased the gag.  IMHO, the proof of US involvement is the SILENCE of foreign media on the SAF44.  It would be so easy for modern investigative journalism to dig up the facts and expose another US blunder, at the end of which chain would be ... well, by COMMAND RESPONSIBILITY, Obama.  Those covert operators at USAID and spin doctors in Dewey Boulevard are sweating bullets trying to cover ass.  Could the same not be happening in Malacanang?

The news today says suspended PNP Chief Purisima remote-controlled the operation.  So who authorized him? Who is he loyal to? A low-EQ president or American paymasters?  Doesn't it make you shudder to think that the Philippine National Police can be headed by an agent of a foreign power?

Incidentally, since the war on terror and the war against population are both confirmed foreign policies of the US Govt, we can say the same of the DOH and pro-RH NGOs in relation to the FP/RH agenda.  Doesn't it make you shudder to think that the DOH and allied agencies can be headed by agents of a foreign power?  I've said it before:  If Noynoy is not clear about the Right to Life -- the first of all human rights -- he is bound to commit collateral blunders along the way.

A good end can never justify bad means.  Not only is the use of bad means wrong in principle, it also never fails to produce regretful results.

If former US Ambassadors are coming over, it had better be to say SORRY.  I've had some training and I can tell you that for special ops like this, night vision goggles will not suffice.  Whatever happened to stealth?  What kind of special forces don't use suppressors for an operation as sensitive as this?  Enough said.  I've contributed more than two-cents already.

(The above article, dated Jan. 31, 2015, is by Zoe Vidal, my only guest blogger.  i've known and collaborated with him for 20 years; i value his opinions and i marvel at how well-informed he is.  plus, he needs no editing.  wish he would have his own column in our leading dailies.)

The priests (Conclusion)

“You have no idea what we priests think about in bed…”  Fr. Segretto’s words would pop back to mind  every now and then, until I began to wonder if his plea—“Pray for me”—had something to do with what he himself would think about in bed.  Before the prince of mischief could fuel my curiosity to dangerous flames, my inner ear was opened to listen in the silence. In that ineffable way the Lord unveils another’s secret sins and plants in us seeds of compassion for the sinner, I bowed to Fr. Segretto’s plea as though it were the Lord Himself asking for my prayers.

Once when he crossed my mind at prayer, I was “transported” about 12 years back to an experience I had had at a Trappist monastery.  Having been granted by the monks permission to spend 10 days at their guest house—a period that combined spiritual refreshment with professional pursuit—I was able to virtually live with the monks, rising at 2:15 a.m. and going to bed at 7 p.m., and praying and working in silence in the hours in between.  Because the monks knew that I was there to also write about my experience (for an international magazine), they welcomed whatever questions I asked.  One of them was, “Why do you choose to end your day as you do—singing Salve Regina and being sprinkled with holy water?”  

The monks’ individual cells were 2x2-meter structures made of bamboo and nipa—literally, a bahay kubo—and had nothing inside except a bare papag (a narrow bed made of split bamboo), a crucifix, a flashlight, and a bolo.  The bolo was for snakes that might crawl in to share their beds at night in search of warmth.  Yes, of course, “the night holds terrors” for us all, thus the nocturnal blessing with holy water.  So, why the Salve Regina and not any other hymn?  The monk’s answer was so simple even a kindergartener could digest it: “Our Blessed Mother should be the last person in our mind before we sleep.”

Last November I met a 72-year-old priest who from experience knows that a priest must guard his heart against all kinds of snakes—not just those that want to share the monks’ beds at night.  These are the “serpents” that crawl around and about the person of the priest, day and night—like hungry lions on the prowl, ready to devour him—the same species that desperately tried to tempt our Lord as He fasted for 40 days and 40 nights in the desert.  This priest suggests “clothing oneself in Mary”, in addition to the Salve Regina at bedtime.  He has found a most potent protection for his ministry to pray 2,000 Hail Marys each day: “I pray 100 Hail Marys every hour for 20 hours; I sleep only four hours a day.”

It would dawn upon me that Fr. Segretto’s request for prayer was meant to bear for me such grace that I had never asked for.  I would pray for any priest at any instance I would be moved to, such as: Fr. Buboy who resents his assignment in so poor a barrio that his average collection at Sunday Mass is 70 pesos; Fr. Dondi who as a student in Rome would be overwhelmed by nonstop exposure to eye candy (“those gorgeous Italian women who are all centerfold material”); Fr. Rey, the eternal headache of his bishop for being a Lothario victimizing pretty Sisters assigned in the parish; Fr. Edgar who devotes more time to his profitable leisure-oriented business than to the needy parishioners; Fr. Joey who causes trouble and gives a bad example to seminarians in whatever community his superior assigns him to; Fr. Dylan who is known to have sired two children with different partners and is unrepentant about it; Fr. Sonny whose breath always reeks of alcohol at the confessional; and a few others.

I have received communion from all of these priests, fully aware of their weaknesses. I have prayed for all of them, too.  A change in me surprised me that it had taken place under the radar (so to speak)—I suddenly realized that I had been freed from the notion that the state of the priest’s hands could affect the value of the host I am receiving.  I was not even aware that for the longest time I had been wholeheartedly receiving communion from laymen, seminarians, and nuns.  This realization was illumined by the memory of a week in the desert when I, then an agnostic, experienced extreme thirst.

On a seven-day trip called the Sahara Safari, venturing into the desert between Egypt and Libya with a dozen German scholars, I came to appreciate the value of water.  We had to travel light; loading our Moogs with more than the barest necessities could get our tires stuck in the sand.   Thus, we were each allowed to use only two liters of water every day, to drink and to perform our ablutions.  So when we came to an oasis, the crew advised us to drink as much as we wanted for the next day we would be back to our 2-liter water ration.  The villagers led us to a well, the community’s sole source of drinking water.  The water stank of sulfur and we all had to drink from one worn-out, chipped cup used by all the villagers.  Elsewhere I would have fussed over the broken cup and the water’s offensive odor, but in the desert with a parched throat, I couldn’t care less if the water smelled of sewage or if the person drinking before me had TB.  I was thirsty, and it was all that mattered.

Many years later, after the undeserved miracle that brought me back to the Church, I would see the desire for communion as a hunger for God that’s not unlike the thirst for water in the desert.  I need it to remain alive; deprive me of the Eucharist and I’ll die.  I no longer care whether or not the hands feeding me are pure or his person holy.  In communion, the Lord gives Himself to me; that is all that matters.

We do not turn away from the Church simply because some of her pastors fall short of our expectations.  We wish they would all be Christ-like but we pray for them even (and more intensely) when they are not.

In his homily shortly before he retired, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI said that “nothing causes more suffering for the Church, the Body of Christ, than the sins of her pastors, especially the sins of those who become ‘thieves and robbers’ of the sheep, lead them astray by their own private teachings, or ensnare them in the toils of sin and death.”  Those of us who are aware of the sins of our priests may in a way said to be privileged, but what is more important is, with that privilege we assume a grave responsibility.  Becoming aware of the infidelities of priests, the ingratitude, the coldness and sinfulness of these men of the cloth means we are given the privilege of being invited, as it were, into the very depths of the sorrows of the Sacred Heart.  Leaning on His mercy we do not judge priests for what we perceive to be their imperfections; rather, out of compassion we pray that they be strengthened in their journey to union with God.

At the very least, gratitude to God should prompt us to pray for His priests.  When we strengthen a priest with our prayers, we strengthen the hands, lips, eyes of Christ; we strengthen the whole Church.

The priests, 5

 All it took was a casual glance on the crucifix for the priest to realize how far away he had gone from his supposed Master, Jesus.  He was to say later, “I had grown too accustomed to the polished and beautiful crucifixes—works of art surrounding me—that I had almost forgotten that our Lord actually suffered alone and died on the cross covered in nothing but blood.  While I, consecrated, anointed alter Christus, have everything I need, much much more than I need, in fact.  How can I ever be worthy as His servant when I am so privileged?

        Seeing some or many of our priests as flawed and red-handed servants does not give us the right to condemn them—even when they are caught in flagrante delicto.  Their lifestyle or apparent infidelity may offend us, even cause us pain, but we must understand that like everybody else, they are on a journey—and we are all together on that journey.

        Are we absolutely sure our hands are clean in dealing with them?  We may be unwittingly doing things that feed their weaknesses: with all our best intentions we spoil them, we flatter them, we bribe them, we seduce them, we shower them with gifts and gadgets, not realizing that in catering to their weaknesses we are attempting to buy their friendship, trying to make virtual allies out of them in order that our own weaknesses may be justified.

        Embracing the cross of Christ is not for priests alone; any baptized Christian shares that burden.  It is not only priests who must aspire to follow Christ more closely; we, too, are enjoined to live simply and above reproach, to live the faith we profess in true surrender to the will of God.

        God’s will for us is thwarted when we commodify priestly blessing through our pettiness and self-serving charity.  When our donations to the Church make us believe we are entitled to special Masses at home on demand, we cruelly tie the priest’s hands.  We are being mean to bishops when we ask them why they never wear the diamond-encrusted pectoral cross and ring we’ve gifted them with.  Could it be that we “share” our wealth with priests because we do not really want to believe the Lord wants us to be poor?

          By our unexamined interaction with priests we could be contributing to the spawning of such doubts.  Even an innocent looking confession could trigger in a priest a doubt towards his vocation that could last a lifetime.  Fr. Herman says that at age 52, he thought he was over his midlife crisis until one confession from a woman unexpectedly aroused his imagination, so much so that he himself needed to confess immediately after.  From then on it has been his policy to firmly say “Enough, enough!” to similar disclosures at the confessional.  “Women should be extremely careful of what they say at confession; we priests are men, too, and not above being shocked into sin,” he said.
Being human, priests are subject to serious doubts, too—sometimes they come to doubt their vocation, and for some of them the doubt is a lingering pain, a burden of darkness and uncertainty that lasts for years or decades.

Fr. Manny, erstwhile economer of his community, could not understand why he could longer believe in the reality of a God who created mankind out of love; he was bothered by his growing belief in what he called “the randomness of the universe”, and so for years he went about his priestly duties not only with a heavy heart but also in danger of entrapment in amoral ethics.

          Fr. Gerardo was 76 years old when he admitted to doubting his vocation.  We got together by chance on a pilgrimage in Europe.  When his rosary turned to gold, he tearfully related: “All these years doubts about my vocation would haunt me, but I never told anyone.  I am esteemed in my Community, nobody would have believed me even if I’d told them the truth that many times I had wanted to leave the priesthood… My only wish on this pilgrimage was a sign that I was really meant to be a priest, because lately I had been thinking I had wasted my life being in the wrong profession.  I did not ask that my rosary turn to gold, I only asked for a sign, and God gave me this.”  In a busload of pilgrims, three rosaries became golden, and Fr. Gerard’s shone brightest. 
          At a retreat many years ago, we were asked to read Psalm 63 and to briefly reflect on any word, phrase or verse that struck us.  We obediently did so in silence and submitted our notes to the retreat master, Fr. Segretto.  In the free time that followed, he called me to his office to ask me to elaborate on my chosen verse, ‘On my bed I remember you, on you I muse through the night…’

        “Well,” I told Father, “it’s a reality in my life.”  Then I hesitantly “elaborated” (for I do not enjoy such personal ‘sharing’): “I am married, I am loved, I have loved and made love, but on my bed, with my husband already asleep beside me, I think of the Lord, thank God for His love for mankind and ask Him how else I may serve Him, to be part of that Love, to bring that Love to those who do not yet feel or know of it.  Father, it’s not enough for me to be happily married and satisfied; after the marital intimacies, it’s still Jesus who fills my being.”

          Fr. Segretto was silent.  His face was so sad and his eyes reddening and moist.  Honestly baffled, I asked, “Why, Father, did I say anything wrong?”  His mystifying reply was: “You have no idea what we priests think about in bed…”  As we parted he said, “Pray for me.” 

        I took note of his remark, but didn’t dwell on it.  When the retreatants regrouped in the afternoon, Father picked me out to share my reflection to the whole group—horror of horrors! Reluctantly I stood up and did as asked, in obedience to the retreat master.  Now, looking back, I recall his sad face, when he was on the verge of tears after I “elaborated” on the verse, but I still cannot fathom the depth of his statement, nor could I guess why he singled me out for the afternoon’s sharing.  But from the tone of his voice as he said “Pray for me” I felt his vulnerability and a dire need for spiritual support.