July 13, ABS-CBN employees and supporters stages again a noise barrage at ABS-CBN’s Esguerra gate denouncing Congress decision to deny the network’s franchise.
By Anna Holligan BBC News, The Hague, 13 July 2020
Bronze statues of colonial icons have been spray-painted. Black Lives Matter protests have broken out. And now the Dutch parliament has backed a petition by three teenage women requesting the addition of racism to the school curriculum.
Winds of change are swirling around the cobblestones of The Hague. Faced with a strong colonial past and a legacy of slavery, the Dutch are being asked to take a more impartial look at their history.
“We’re still a very white nation,” says Mirjam de Bruijn, an anthropologist at Leiden University. “Our colonial legacy is visible every day in our streets. There’s an inherent racism and acceptance of inequality. Racism is inside all of us.”
How the protests began
What happened in Minnesota found echoes here too. In June, more than 50,000 people knelt during demonstrations across the Netherlands.
“We have deaths of people who died like George Floyd, but still no arrests,” explains poet and campaigner Jerry Afriyie, who has been detained at a number of anti-racism protests.
He points to two recent deaths in Dutch police custody.
Aruba-born Mitch Henriquez died in June 2015
Tomy Holten died an hour after he was arrested on 14 March, after reportedly causing a nuisance in a supermarket in the central city of Zwolle. Images appear to show one of the arresting officers pressing his foot down on his face.
In 2015, Mitch Henriquez died after being arrested for allegedly claiming he had a gun at a music festival in The Hague. An officer was given a six-month suspended sentence for applying the neck grip that killed him.
Mr Afriyie believes the Netherlands has problems with “white-supremacy” sentiment and he has his own experience: “I was put in a choke-hold and had to struggle for my life.”
Protesters complain of institutional racism and a disconnect between a society that sees itself as anti-racist and the actual experience of black people within it.
There is a distinct absence of black MPs in the current Dutch parliament. And that reflects a sense of invisibility felt by many.
“It’s a strange country,” says Mirjam de Bruijn, who finds it impossible to see the Netherlands as truly democratic when part of society is silenced or told the racism they endure is imagined.
The three teenagers fighting back
The place to get the issue addressed is in the classroom, according to high school graduates Veronika Vygon, Sohna Sumbunu and Lakiescha Tol.
The three friends launched a petition calling for lessons on racial discrimination to be added to the national curriculum.
Within weeks they had collected 60,000 signatures, and had been overwhelmed by an explosion of support from politicians, musicians and social influencers.
“In school, people told us ‘Your skin looks like poop’,” Veronika, 18, told me. “You are not born a racist, it’s taught by your parents, your environment, school. We want to unteach it, to use the same institutions reproducing stereotypes to turn them around.”
A Labour politician put forward a motion backing their petition and it was passed by MPs on 23 June, with 125 out of 150 votes.
“The response has been amazing,” says Veronika. “We are working on programmes and lesson plans to help teachers. Do I think this will make a difference and change lives for the better? One thousand per cent.”
History teacher Rodrigo van Loo believes there has already been a shift in Dutch schools. “The books mention the people who were visited by the Dutch. And on slavery, we now teach how slaves became slaves.”
He teaches in a so-called “black school”, where most pupils come from migrant backgrounds.
Bitter blackface row that divides Dutch
Every 5 December, white people in the Netherlands paint their faces black, apply red lipstick and pull on curly wigs to embody fictional festive character Black Pete.
Defenders of “Zwarte Piet” vigorously reject accusations of racism. But opponents argue that the fact it continues, when so many in the black community are upset, shows black lives matter little here.
One recent poll, however, suggests fewer than half of Dutch people now support the tradition – a dramatic fall in a matter of months.
Discrimination in Netherlands
Experiences of non-white citizens
56%in shops and businesses
29%experienced from police
40%in schools or universities
78%believe institutional racism exists
Source: Survey of 5,000 on Een Vandaag panel, June 2020
Old attitudes die hard, though. When veteran TV football pundit Johan Derksen suggested black rapper Akwasi looked like a photo of a man in blackface, both the Dutch men’s and women’s national teams said they would boycott the programme.
Derksen said it was a ‘”stupid joke”, but stopped short of apologising. The TV network refused to sanction him, citing freedom of expression.
Stirring up history
As elsewhere, Dutch colonial legends are now coming under scrutiny from those whose ancestors experienced the nation’s inglorious side.
During the “Golden Age” from the late 16th to late 17th Century, the Netherlands was a global pioneer in science, art and trade. Its wealth grew over 200 years through the Dutch East India Company (VOC).
But statues of famous, seafaring figures have come under attack from a group called “Helden van Nooit” (Heroes of never):
In Amsterdam, a monument of Joannes van Heutsz, Governor General of the Dutch East Indies, was defaced
In Rotterdam, Piet Hein, 17th-Century vice-admiral of the Dutch West India Company, had the words “killer” and “thief” scrawled on his plinth
Outside the Dutch parliament, slogans were daubed on a statue of Johan van Oldenbarnevelt, a hero of independence from Spain and co-founder of the Dutch East India Company
Riot police in the northern town of Hoorn protected a bronze statue of Jan Pieterszoon Coen, a 17th-Century officer who seized control of the spice trade.
A significant majority believe these monuments should stay, one survey suggests. However, a debate has stirred on the Netherlands’ history of slavery.
On 1 July, the Dutch marked the formal abolition of slavery in 1863 in the old colonies of Suriname and the Dutch Antilles.
The day is known as Keti Koti (broken chains in Surinamese), but slaves in Suriname were not freed for another 10 years, because of a mandatory transition period. Even then they received nothing, while their owners were given compensation.
Should there be an apology for slavery?
There is increasing support, but Prime Minister Mark Rutte rejected the idea in parliament, because he feared it would create further polarisation.
Statues shouldn’t be removed either, he said, as they offered a chance to reflect on a history that cannot be removed.
But D66 liberal MP Rob Jetten called for more attention to be paid to the descendants of slaves: “A large section of black people in the Netherlands say: see our pain and feel it.”
More on Europe’s debate on racism and history
Labour leader Lodewijk Asscher told MPs: “Being against racism is not left or right, but a sign of civilisation.”
But the populist right profoundly disagrees with an apology.
Thierry Baudet of the Forum for Democracy party laid flowers on Gen Coen’s plinth, and urged others to celebrate national heroes.
Is there a sign of change?
Apologies for slavery have come from the cities of Amsterdam and Rotterdam, while King Willem Alexander apologised on a visit to Indonesia “for excessive violence” during its war of independence.
“Don’t deny the terrible wrongs we did. Amsterdam is built on the products of Indonesia,” says anthropologist Mirjam de Bruijn.
The perception that modern Dutch society is inherently inclusive and tolerant was challenged last year by the UN’s special rapporteur on racism.
“In many areas of life… the message is reinforced that to be truly or genuinely Dutch is to be white and of Western origin,” wrote E. Tendayi Achiume.
Historian Alicia Schrikker believes a failure to understand what not being white is like gets in the way of more critical reflection.
“People being raised now find it difficult to imagine what it was like,” she told me. “Going back to history is essential to understand how much of that has influenced our contemporary culture and ways of seeing or not seeing.”
If the Netherlands is to protect its open and democratic society, that may require rethinking what it means to be Dutch.#
We, the undersigned journalists, editors and workers from different media organizations, express our solidarity with thousands of our colleagues in ABS-CBN who risk losing their jobs after the House of Representatives Committee on Legislative Franchises denied the network a fresh 25-year franchise.
We condemn the unjust and cruel decision of the House committee that threatens the livelihood of workers as we are facing uncertainties due to the pandemic.
One media outfit shut down because of the whims and trivialities of those in power is one too many, especially at a time when the public needs credible and independently verified information to make informed choices.
The role of a journalist in a democratic society is to keep the people well-informed to allow them to be free and self-governing, not to serve as any administration’s publicist.
The rejection of ABS-CBN’s franchise bill sounds the death knell to a credible source of news and a huge attack on press freedom in the country.
In denying the network of a franchise, the 70 lawmakers clearly want to treat the press as a propaganda machine that will serve their political interests, embellish their image, and parrot their spin.
History will surely be cruel to the lawmakers who voted against the franchise renewal of a network that was last shut down during the Marcos dictatorship.
The only “historic” deed they were able to accomplish is to make the chamber a pawn for carrying out a personal vendetta.
Victory came easy for the forces that conspired to bring down ABS-CBN. But the rehabilitation of the image of those condemned by history won’t, as it will be fraught with the collective wrath of a people who live by democracy and the rule of law.
Zenaida Cedillo Hernandez, ABS-CBN Current Affairs
Zsastee Villanueva
We, the undersigned journalists, editors and workers from different media organizations, express our solidarity with thousands of our colleagues in ABS-CBN who risk losing their jobs after the House of Representatives Committee on Legislative Franchises denied the network a fresh 25-year franchise.
We condemn the unjust and cruel decision of the House committee that threatens the livelihood of workers as we are facing uncertainties due to the pandemic.
One media outfit shut down because of the whims and trivialities of those in power is one too many, especially at a time when the public needs credible and independently verified information to make informed choices.
The role of a journalist in a democratic society is to keep the people well-informed to allow them to be free and self-governing, not to serve as any administration’s publicist.
The rejection of ABS-CBN’s franchise bill sounds the death knell to a credible source of news and a huge attack on press freedom in the country.
In denying the network of a franchise, the 70 lawmakers clearly want to treat the press as a propaganda machine that will serve their political interests, embellish their image, and parrot their spin.
History will surely be cruel to the lawmakers who voted against the franchise renewal of a network that was last shut down during the Marcos dictatorship.
The only “historic” deed they were able to accomplish is to make the chamber a pawn for carrying out a personal vendetta.
Victory came easy for the forces that conspired to bring down ABS-CBN. But the rehabilitation of the image of those condemned by history won’t, as it will be fraught with the collective wrath of a people who live by democracy and the rule of law.
Okay, sige, sabihin na nating medyo tagilid talaga kung ikukumpara ang Pilipinas sa New Zealand — malayo kasi ang agwat ng bansa natin sa New Zealand pagdating sa population; nasa 5 million lang ang population ng New Zealand, tayo 100+ million.
Malayo rin ang agwat natin sa Global Peace Index; 2nd ang New Zealand, tayo nasa 134th place. Malayo rin kahit sa GDP per Capita.
Pero may isang bansa na puwede at maari nating ikumpara ang Pilipinas, ‘yung kapitbahay nating bansa mismo, Vietnam. Partida ha, may land border ang Vietnam sa China — ‘yung northernmost part ng Vietnam ay kadikit ang probinsiya ng Yunnan sa China.
Tulad ng Pinas, developing country ring maituturing ang Vietnam, and by the standards of many, hindi rin siya mayamang bansa, pero bakit kinaya nila?
Population (as of 2020):
: 97 million: 109 million
First known case of COVID-19:: 23rd January 2020: 30th January 2020
Suspension of all inbound flights:: 21st March 2020: 3rd May 2020
Mass testing:: Yes, aggressive mass testing: No, with controversies of “VIP treatment” for politicians and their relatives
Date where quarantine was lifted:: 23rd April 2020: Still under quarantine
Number of confirmed cases (as of 10th June):: 332: 23,732
Number of recoveries (as of 10th June):: 320: 4,895
Number of deaths (as of 10th June):: 0: 1,027
See? Nasa competence ‘yan ng namumuno at ng pamahalaan, wala sa population o land area ‘yan. Why and how did Vietnam, a country of almost a hundred million people, won the battle against COVID-19? Lahat rin po ng data diyan ay hindi ko hinulaan lang, I’d comment down below the sources so that you guys can read it for yourself. Alam ko may magsasabi rin diyan na “Single party” kasi ang Vietnam. Well, oo, one-party state ang Vietnam (Communist Party of Vietnam), pero uuwi at uuwi pa rin tayo sa usapin ng competence, kasi kahit one-party state ang Vietnam, kung incompetent ang leaders niya, wala rin.
Bulatlat File Photo: Anakpawis in one of its protest actions against oil price hikes. The group has long been proposing that the government become the exclusive importer of crude oil and petroleum products so the country may effectively search for the cheapest source of oil.
Oil firms-imposed price adjustments are higher than what should be – by P 2.41 per liter for diesel and P4.76 per liter for gasoline, based on a DOE-recognized formula. The Big Three, a Duterte backer and other oil firms, rake in tens of millions of pesos daily from profiteering.
On July 3, transport officials finally green-lighted the return of jeepneys on the roads of Metro Manila. But the order, contained in a memo by the Land Transportation Franchising and Regulatory Board (LTFRB), came with restrictions tougher than those applied to other modes of public transport. Aside from the usual health and safety protocols, jeepneys would have to pass additional roadworthiness checks and standards set by the Land Transportation Office (LTO), including compliance with the Clean Air Act. Such added restraints are apparently part of government’s contentious phaseout scheme of the jeepneys.
These are on top of the limits set on the number of jeepneys (6,000) and the routes (49) that they are allowed to ply on. Such figures are a very small fraction of how many jeepneys are operating in Metro Manila (estimates vary widely, from 50,000 to as high as 75,000) and the existing jeepney routes (about 641) prior to the COVID-19 lockdown. Those who will be authorized to ply the routes can carry just half of their unit’s capacity to abide by physical distancing rules.
All these adversely impact the families who rely on the jeepney sector for their source of livelihood. But their plight is aggravated even further by the continued profiteering of the oil companies, which apparently became more abusive during the pandemic. Based on available data from the Department of Energy’s (DOE) Oil Monitor, it appears that as of July 7, the oil firms have implemented price adjustments for diesel that are about P2.41 per liter higher than what should have been following global price movements. For gasoline, the difference is about P4.76 per liter. Part of this amount is the 12-percent value-added tax or VAT (i.e., P0.29 per liter for diesel and P0.57 for gasoline).
For the poor jeepney drivers and their families who are fighting for survival, such form of overpricing at the pump further chips away at their already extremely limited opportunities to earn a living. According to a study by the National Center for Transportation Studies (NCTS), jeepneys that ply a short route (i.e., coverage distance of five kilometers or less) consume 11 liters of diesel per day. Jeepneys on a medium route (six to nine kilometers) use 19.97 liters daily; long route (10 to 19 kilometers), 20.64 liters; and extra-long route (20 kilometers and above), 31.64 liters.
This means that at an overpricing of P2.41 per liter for diesel, oil firms and the government through the VAT take away almost P27 in potential income every day from jeepney drivers plying a short route. For those on a medium to long route, the oil firms and government deprive drivers of P48 to 50 daily in would-be income due to overpricing; and more than P76 per day for those on extra-long route. That jeepney drivers are likely to earn less than half of their usual daily income because of the COVID-19 crisis accentuates the injustice and abuse that the profiteering oil firms and the government inflict on them.
As of July 9, the pump price of diesel in Metro Manila ranges from P30.00 to P42.57 per liter. Jeepney drivers thus spend P330 to as much P1,347 for diesel every day, depending on their route.
While their units are not being singled out for phaseout through more stringent restrictions, drivers in other modes of public transport such as the bus, UV express, taxi, the TNVS and tricycle nonetheless suffer the same exploitation in the hands of oil companies and government like their jeepney counterparts. In fact, gasoline, which these transport units mostly use, is overpriced by twice as much than that of diesel. Private motorists, including ordinary workers that rely on motorcycle as their primary means of mobility, are affected as well.
The overpricing estimates are limited only to the adjustments driven by the movement in global oil prices (as indicated by the Mean of Platts Singapore or MOPS) and fluctuations in the foreign exchange (forex) rate. MOPS is the international benchmark used by the DOE in monitoring price adjustments for finished petroleum products like diesel and gasoline. They do not include other variables that impact actual pump prices and/or price movements such as the additional oil import duty of P1.50 to 1.60 per liter imposed by the Duterte administration starting in June. Also excluded are the additional excise tax of P1 per liter for gasoline and P1.50 per liter for diesel that took effect last January under the final tranche of Duterte’s Tax Reform for Acceleration and Inclusion (TRAIN) law.
This method of using the MOPS and forex is one of the alternative formulas that the DOE recognizes in estimating weekly price adjustments.
Based on the weekly changes in MOPS and forex, the pump price of diesel should have already declined by about P11.25 per liter from the start of the year up to the last adjustments on July 7. But actual price adjustments for diesel (excluding the new import duty) have reached only a net decrease of P8.84 per liter during the said period – or a discrepancy of P2.41 per liter. Similarly, the pump price of gasoline should have fallen by P10.38 per liter, but actual adjustments in local prices only posted a net decrease of P5.62 per liter or a discrepancy P4.76 per liter.
It is expected that oil consumption will sharply fall this year due to the COVID-19 pandemic. One estimate pegged the decline in global demand at 4.9 percent. But this matters significantly less to the giant oil companies that earn super profits by virtue of their monopoly control over the entire global oil industry, including through their profiteering units in the Philippines.
Even if assuming, for instance, that domestic oil consumption declined by half because of COVID-19, oil firms would still have earned an estimated P38.06 million per day from diesel and P45.42 million per day from gasoline due to profiteering from the weekly price adjustments. Out of this combined P83.48 million per day in additional profits from overpricing, about P10.02 million would have gone to the Duterte government in the form of the 12-percent VAT. Of the remaining P73.46 million, more than half or around P37.21 million would have gone to the traditional Big Three oil firms (based on market share) – Petron, P 18.06 million; Shell, P 13.58 million; and Chevron, P5.56 million. Meanwhile, about P5.19 million would have gone to Phoenix Petroleum, the fourth largest oil firm in the country in terms of market share. It is owned by Dennis Uy, a close supporter and campaign donor of President Duterte.
All these are in addition to the usual profits and oil tax revenues that the oil companies and government squeeze from the jeepney and other public transport drivers and private motorists as well as from all ordinary end-consumers who ultimately shoulder the production costs of goods and services bloated by overpriced oil. Profiteering and overpricing are easily done because under oil deregulation, which has been in place for more than two decades now, oil firms can automatically adjust pump prices.
Overall, global oil prices have fallen steeply as entire transport systems, factories, establishments and economies worldwide ground to a halt. The spot price of Dubai crude, the Philippines’ international benchmark for crude oil prices, declined to as low as USD 23.28 per barrel in April before recovering in May (USD 31.23) and June (USD 40.14), as monitored by the International Monetary Fund (IMF). It was the lowest monthly spot price of Dubai crude since posting USD 17.53 a barrel in November 2001.
But the country could not take full advantage of lower oil prices to help reinvigorate the economy, including the livelihood of jeepney drivers and others that rely on public transport for income due to the unconstrained profiteering by the oil firms. While prices are lower in absolute terms, deregulated price setting, in addition to monopoly pricing, still allows oil companies to exploit the public with artificially bloated pump prices and undermine economic recovery. The COVID-19 crisis further highlights the need and urgency for policy makers to reverse the regime of oil deregulation and effectively control domestic oil prices to protect the people’s welfare and advance the national interest.
We, the undersigned journalists, editors and workers from different media organizations, express our solidarity with thousands of our colleagues in ABS-CBN who risk losing their jobs after the House of Representatives Committee on Legislative Franchises denied the network a fresh 25-year franchise.
Inihahalintulad ni Bonifacio Ilagan, isang manunulat at direktor, ang kanyang mga naging karanasan noong panahon ng Martial Law sa maaaring mangyari ngayong naipasa na ang Anti-Terrorism Act.
Family members of Oplan Tokhang victims stage a symbolic protest to demand justice from the government. (Photo screengrabbed from ‘Aswang’ free movie screening.)
“Whenever they say an Aswang is around, what they really want to say is– be afraid.”
‘Aswang’, the much-awaited award-winning documentary by Alyx Ayn Arumpac is an intimate illustration of how Duterte’s bloody “drug war” continues to haunt the children and families who were left behind.
Chronicling the first two years of President Rodrigo Duterte’s ‘legacy’ Oplan Tokhang, this film has portrayed one of the darkest times in recent Philippine history through the points-of-view of a child, of a photojournalist following the trail of blood, and of people in the margins whose lives have changed forever. Needless to say, the narratives shown in the film have once again reminded us of the grim reality we live in. It speaks to us – reminding us that we should not be numbed by the number of the “drug war” casualties, we should be disturbed.
Tok-hang, a term which originated from the local words tok (‘knock’) and plead (‘hangyo’), describes the massive police operations that were launched by the Duterte administration since July 2016. It involved police officers going door-to-door to hunt for drug users and other related offenders. Contrary to Philippine National Police data of about 6,000 casualties, local human rights groups have recorded about 30,000 casualties of the brutal campaign. These include thousands more whom unidentified gunmen killed in cases that the police did not seriously investigate. And even cases that did not make it in the news like that of Kian delos Santos.
Kian, in the eyes of a dear friend
One of the most moving parts of the film is that about Kian. The helpless 17-year old boy accused of being a drug-runner, gunned down by policemen, and eventually was found dead in a narrow alley in his own neighborhood in Caloocan on the evening of August 16, 2017. Even with the guilty verdict on the three policemen who were proven responsible for his death, the grave feeling of loss and grief continue to haunt all the people he had left behind.
Jomari, a young child of about six or seven years old was one of Kian’s closest friends. With that very young age, he seemed to have witnessed far worse situations of violence and police brutality than any other ordinary child. In the film, he has effortlessly revealed the harsh truths faced by children in the slums – how they have become convenient targets of the police narrative of ‘nanlaban’ (fought back), or how they could be easily treated as ‘collateral damage’ during buy-bust operations in poor communities.
Jomari directly answered so many questions about his dear friend Kian. By how he described Kian, who was almost a brother to him, he has easily proven that his friend was a victim and not a criminal. Jomari knew how it felt having to bear the brunt of the government’s targeted war against the poor. His mother was also convicted of a drug-related crime, and it was excruciating to witness how, as a young child, he was pushed to accept a reality that he didn’t deserve. He was poker-faced as he spoke about the possibility that his mother could have the same fate as his friend, Kian.
In their community, all his playmates and fellow children of poor families have long accepted that fate. They have become too comfortable with that danger that they would even make jokes about it. That was one of the most painful scenes in the film. The children have been the primary witnesses to the tokhang-related crimes committed by the police, and they have also been the first ones to grieve the deaths of their family members and friends.
Selective justice, impunity
“What good are the many eyes when they only look at the victims on the ground?”
Even the act of grieving has been unapologetic to the families of Oplan Tokhang victims. Particular scenes in the film have shown how sudden deaths and wakes have become a routine in urban poor communities. The drug war has created one abandoned family after another, struggling to let loose the feeling of grief and anger over the loss of their loved ones.
“This government has always targeted the ‘drug users’, but never the ‘drug lords,” said Brother Ciriarco Santiago III, a photojournalist who committed most of his time documenting the victims of Oplan Tokhang.
While the number of drug-related killings have continued to increase since Duterte’s term in 2016, the Department of Justice in 2018 has cleared alleged drug lords Kerwin Espinosa, Peter Lim, and 20 others of narcotics-related charges due to ‘lack of evidence’.
This took place even after the discovery of a secret jail in Manila in 2017 which held about 30 drug suspects, most of whom were poor. In an anonymous interview, one of the detained drug suspects in that jail described the dehumanizing conditions they went through. They were held in a small, dark alley hidden behind a bookshelf in Raxabago Police Station in Tondo, Manila. They were electrocuted, tortured, and they slept in the same spot where they urinated.
Without records of arrest and inquest proceedings, they were held there for a week and were told that in order to be released, they must pay at least P 100,000-ransom. Upon investigation and extensive media exposure, they have proven that it was indeed a hidden jail. However, what happened next was even more heartbreaking – their arrests were made legal, they were still put behind bars.
Go not gently into that good night
For a power-hungry tyrant and his brutal pawns, the war against the poor is the name of the game. Aswang tells us that the thousands victims of Oplan Tokhang are not mere by-products of today’s nostalgia. As we are faced with another wave of state-sponsored threats in the form of the newly-enacted Anti-Terror Law, we are haunted by the souls of the thousands deprived of justice.
The unfortunate death of Kian and many others tell us that the Oplan Tokhang is real and its masterminds are very much alive today. These monsters have created a nation of orphaned children and killed their dreams. These are the same blood-thirsty monsters who creep into the night, whose only real weapons are inflicting fear and terror.
The film’s greatest strength is the up-close narratives from people who were left behind, which leave us with an unsettling feeling. It tells the viewers that grieving and being afraid will not slay the monsters. We need to fight them.
“But some refuse to be afraid. They choose to stand up and look the monster in the eye. Here is where it begins.”