Friday, December 26, 2008

MY BLESSED AND JOYOUS HOLIDAY

I am enjoying my Christmas holiday. And I am blessed, not only for having a healthy family and another published book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses, but also for having online friends who did not mind spending precious money and time to personally greet me a happy holiday season.

Worth mentioning here are my online friends in England, UKFox and company. They took time to call me at 7:30 on a chilly Christmas morning for personal holiday greetings and inspiring message about my first published book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom. Being a late-bloomer in creative writing, to hear people telling me that they consider KOILAWAN as their #1 Book of the Year, to the extent that 'I am their Idol', is very humbling and encouraging.

I just hope that you all will find "PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG" a very good inspirational and comforting gift book of verses, especially this time of economic crunch. Price is only $9.99 +s/h and currently available on Comfort Publishing online store. In a few weeks, "Praising..." can be ordered in other online book outlets, and, hopefully, in a bookstore near you.

As a gift to all my online friends, here's the short story that I was working on when I got the call from England. This story is part of my book project, BEDTIME-PASTIME:Collection of Short Stories and Bukidnon Folktales.


The Shotgun Romance of
Agah and the Stranger

Edmund Melig Industan


He heard the roosters crowed twice already and, without looking his alarm clock on the corner table, he knew it was two in the morning. Still, his eyes were wide-opened staring at the ceiling.

He remembered his first night at the log pond a month ago. He was awakened at midnight, because the domesticated roosters in most homes, some of them cared for cockfights every other Sundays, and those in the wilds were crowing like a three-part round sing-song: one group sings first, the other repeats right after the first group was at their very last note. Then, those in the wild create the echo from afar. The crowing takes around a couple of minutes. As a city guy, born and raised in a gated community in Metro Manila, his night was never bothered of crowing roosters, except by vehicle honks and engines from spoiled kids of wealthy families, who sometimes have fun racing in the street. It took him three weeks before the crowing became a melodic symphony that finally can lull him to sleep after a long day under the tropical heat as he checked logs brought in by the trucks from the forest.

That night, though, he was one of those logs rolling to the river. He often times pulled himself up, sometimes pushed himself down, many times covered his ears with his pillows. The crane were his arms; the skids…his hands. The lady he saw at the river during the day: an oblong-shaped face, dewy-eyes with long curly lashes, and a long nose with a thin nostril was disturbing him. He definitely saw in her some spilled over blood from the Spanish Conquistadores. Simultaneously, he had been bothered with the words of Ligut.

“Be tactful when you interact with the villagers, Pare. Your culture is different from theirs,” Ligut, the host, advised his friend, Mario, during his first night at the log pond.

“They are Filipinos like me, aren’t they?” Mario asked.

“Certainly, they are; however, we are thousands and thousand miles away from Manila, separated by the sea and dense forest,” Ligut answered.

“Does it mean I could not speak to them in Tagalog?” Mario continued.

“You could, but the intelligibility, from the scale of 10, would be from 0 to 1. You might as well talk to them in your household tongue. Anyways, besides me, there is this 20-year old beautiful lady. She lives three villages up. She used to be one of those “tribal scholars” who were taken to Manila, housed in a mansion by their multi-millionaire benefactor, and was sent to an exclusive girl’s school as a second grader at the age of fourteen.”

“I remember you telling me that when we were in college. You told me they were bussed to and from the school with an entourage of security officers. Instead of school bags and lunch boxes, they have shoulder purses with make-up kits. And on the first day of school, their 8-year old classmates stood up right away when they entered their respective rooms and greeted them ‘good morning, ma’am’,” Mario said laughing.

“Yeah…funny; but one thing we did not know until this girl was allowed to come home for a one-week summer vacation. While at the mansion, they were treated like girls in a harem. They have classes in social graces and etiquette. Actors and singers were invited to entertain them every weekend. But the sad thing, Pare, each of them had to keep a strict schedule when to see their millionaire patron in his bedroom,” Ligut said shaking his head.

“And I know this man. His wife left him and she now lives in Madrid. I heard my dad mentioning that to my mom. That was before my dad took you to our house as our ‘tribal scholar’.”

“But I was very lucky, Pare. Your family really treated me as a scholar, not a slave or whatever. And I was very lucky to come from the Bukidnon tribe that has valued the importance of education since I can remember. My mom was even sent by an American missionary to Manila for her ETC, elementary teaching certificate, few years after World War II. Anyways, when this girl came home, she was completely changed…very sophisticated…she felt out of place...other village girls disliked her, and men shunned her for that prima-donna attitude, but one slip of her tongue made her parents angry and ended her Manila days,” Ligut shook his head and a chuckle.

“And what’s that…?” The eyes of Mario stared intently at Ligut anxious to hear it.

“As she was proudly “singing” about her life in Manila, she mentioned that, one night, a fellow scholar came out from the benefactor’s bedroom so tired, famished, and disheveled, and she asked others to get her a glass of water to drink and gargle.”

“And…,” Mario raised both of his hands, more intently with a slight smile on her face, his heart teetering with excitement, and mouth salivating to know what happened.

“Well, no one really knew what happened to that “scholar”.

“Wow, Pare, bitin! You cut me off. I am dying here to know the details,” Mario stood up stumping with a grin of frustration. He turned his back away from Ligut and quickly brushed his hair with his bare hand.

“Just run your imagination wild, Pare, just like the villagers did when they heard it. But let’s go back to the language issue. Look, the lingua franca here in Mindanao is Bisaya. Tagalog or Pilipino is taught in school, but how many elementary schools did you passed by this morning, from the last town to this village?”

“Two!” Mario abruptly answered , still not looking at Ligut.

“Yes, and those are the barrios of the lowlanders. Most of the tribes in the Philippines are denied of education and other government programs. Probably, because of the remoteness of the villages, but I believe it is more on culture and language barriers. Teachers fear of not being understood, so nobody dares to teach the villagers. And for this tribe; the story of this pretty “tribal scholar” has derailed their trust with government programs, including education. So, be careful out there,” Ligut advised his friend.

Mario, a 22-year old guy, was the new assistant operation manager of a logging company operating in the jungle of central Mindanao. It’s his first assignment of hard work. Ligut left Mario’s house after he graduated and was already working full-time as a senior clerk of the logging company. Nevertheless, they hang out together, almost regularly, on weekends. Ligut knew his cockiness and weakness on women.

“But you are right, Pare, I saw beautiful girls passing by the office this morning.”

“Wow, Pare, hinayhinay lang! (Just take it slow.) You don’t want to have a shotgun marriage or be killed for not marrying one, do you?”

“Why so?” Mario asked.

“See, unmarried women here are well-protected. They are not allowed to socialize with men. If they have male guest in the house, the girls would have to stay in a room where the male guest could not see or touch them,” Ligut said.

“What if a guy accidentally touches a girl?”

“That guy has devirginized that girl; hence, he has to marry her,” Ligut answered.

Mario realized that he had to contain his libido.

“However, Pare, like any other society, there are single women here, who go against the norm. If they like somebody, they would do something to get him. I cannot reiterate this enough…be very careful out there, Pare.”

Mario cannot take his mind off that girl. He still can see that long neck on that 6-foot slender body. “He could qualify in a “Miss Universe” pageant. And being a virgin is a triple plus,” Mario sighed and closed his eyes. He tried to sleep, but cannot. He remembered that when the young woman got up, she put the washed clothes in an enameled basin, balanced it on her head, and started to catwalk like a fashion model. He was flabbergasted. He cannot believe that this young village woman can walk with finesse. He had stereotyped tribal women as uneducated and unrefined, who walk either like ducklings or with petulant swaying of their behind. Not anymore. This woman has proven him wrong. As she was walking, she dropped a handkerchief. Mario got scared, so he pretended not to see it.

The following day, Mario saw the woman again walked by the office. He immediately called Ligut to ask for her name.

“Her name is Agah, the daughter of a chieftain, three villages up. She is here visiting her brothers.”

“She is so beautiful. I wanna bef…,” Mario did not finish his sentence, because he saw Agah dropped her handkerchief. He wanted to pick it up and hand it to Agah, but Ligut patted his shoulder; then shook his head.

“Ignore it, Pare,” Ligut advised him.

However, to ignore the sweetest and most appealing girl at this isolated log pond was to ignore her favorite crispy fried chicken drumstick. So, he walked right to that handkerchief, picked it up, and followed Agah to give her the hankie. As if betwitched, he handed the handkerchief to Agah staring at the pair of dimples on her check. He was enamored and nervously touched the fingers of Agah. Suddenly, the Agah’s concave lips turned convex. She covered her face with the handkerchief and run back to her brother’s hut. Mario wanted to follow her, but Ligut hollered to come back to their office, instead.

“Well, Mr. Casanova,” Ligut said as he shook his head, “now you are trapped. It’s either you runaway right now or accept the brunt of her brothers.”

Mario opened his mouth, about to say something.

“Uh-oh,” Ligut wagged his index finger at Mario, who was quiet for a few seconds. The whistling interference in the side-band radio was tearing his emotion apart. “Don’t say anything. Accidental or intentional, you have to face the music, otherwise, you will put the company’s operation here in jeopardy,” Ligut said in his harsh bossy voice, which Mario had’nt heard from him before.

Mario was stunned and did not say anything. He sat in his rattan chair, tucked his arms under his head, and shook his head once. He knew that despite Ligut’s willingness to stick his head out to protect him as he did in Manila, while he got caught by his girlfriend making out with another woman, he cannot do it now. He has the entire logging operation in the region to protect.

“Log Pond Mindanao, this is Manila. Log Pond Mindanao…Over!” the single sideband company’s radio interrupted the silence. Ligut looked at Mario. Just as he was about to pick up the microphone, they heard a commotion outside their office.

“Agah’s two brothers are coming with a spear and a rifle,” one logging worker hollered.

“Stand-by Manila. Log Pond-Mindanao has a serious problem to attend to. …Will call in thirty minutes. Over and out,” Ligut hanged up, went outside the office to meet the brothers.

“Where is that maniakis? Bring him out!” the older brother shouted as he clucked the rifle.

“Calm down, Gali`, let us settle this problem peacefully,” Ligut, the pacifier, responded raising both arms forty-five degrees to stop the two brothers.

“That maniakis must marry our sister, or else…,” he pulled the trigger and off went a loud rifle crack.

Gali`, there’s nothing to worry. He knows the consequence of his action. Blood does not have to flow. Expect us at eight tonight,” Ligut assured the two brothers.

“I’ll take you on that, Sir Ligut. Better be at my house at eight and Mario on a leash that this log pond won’t turn into a mess,” the older brother yelled as he walked away from Ligut’s office.

Ligut peeped in to check on Mario before he went inside the radio room, “Manila, this is Log Pond-Mindanao; over.”

“Log Pond-Mindanao from Manila, update us what’s going on; over,” a lady’s voice came loud and clear.

Ligut knew who was talking. He heard the voice before, even in early mornings. The voice was from the company’s vice president.

“Roger Manila. It’s one of those cultural nuances, ma’am; over.”

“…Copy on that, Log Pond-Mindanao. Hope it’s not a matter over life and death… elaborate; over.”

“Negative…Manila. Our new assistant operation manager here had blundered by picking up a lady’s handkerchief; over,” Ligut tried to make the report as specific as possible.

“Negative copy, Log Pond-Mindanao…seems not a serious matter…elaborate; over.”

“Roger Manila. Mario helped a lady with her handkerchief. He handed it to her and accidentally or nervously touched the lady’s fingers; over.”

“How could that be a serious problem, Log Pond-Mindanao? Over,” a louder lady’s voice showed a sign of a slight annoyance.

“Touching a lady’s body part by a man is big and serious matter here, Manila. Have to settle this ASAP; otherwise, some of our workers would get killed. Over,” Ligut explained.

“Stand by, Log Pond-Mindanao; over and out!” Then, the main office in Manila was in complete silence. The crackling of the radio took control. Instead of sitting idly with the microphone on hand, Ligut went to the other room to talk to Mario, whom, while talking to Manila, he saw, through the glass partition, sometimes staring blankly at the ceiling and sometimes with a trace of smile.

“So, Mr. Casanova, what’s in your mind? I saw your ambivalent spirit through that glass. C’mon, enlighten me,” Ligut said.

“I’m on a roller coaster ride, Pare.”

“And…?” Ligut looked at Mario with a raised eyebrow and wrinkled forehead.

“I still cannot make up my mind, Pare; …still cannot see myself settling down with this woman…but I also feel something very good right here,” Mario hit his left chest with a fist.

“Ah…a sign of a 22-year old Casanova hit by cupid’s arrow. The arrow just missed the core. Here, allow me to push the arrow a little bit to quell the kinks,” Ligut was about to hurl his fist onto Mario's chest when they vice president's voice.

“Manila to Log Pond-Mindanao, can you copy? …Over.”

Ligut went back to the radio room, pressed the red button on the side of the microphone and replied, “Roger, Manila. Go ahead; over.”

“Is your assistant manager there? …Over,” the lady’s voice asked.

“Roger!” Ligut answered as he signaled Mario to come to the radio room.

“Put him on, please; over.”

“Roger, ma’am,” Ligut handed the microphone to Mario.

“M-m-ma-ma-manila…over,” Mario quivered.

Hijo mio... que paso? …Over,” the lady’s voice asked gently.

Lo siento mucho, Mama`, I got very nervous as I handed her the handkerchief; over,” Mario replied.

“Could we not settle this with grease money? Our public relation officer said that we could, over,” the mother asked.

“I don’t think so, Mama. Ligut told me that we could appease the family’s anger with money if I just shamed them, but my action was like raping this beautiful girl. …Over.”

Que barbaridad…que desgracia! But did you say, “She’s beautiful?” the mom said.

Si, mama… muy hermosa, mama…beautiful than the current Miss Philippines-Universe; over,” Mario answered with a spark in his eyes.

“Your voice is insinuating that you like her…Over?”

“Would you like to have a daughter-in-law from the jungle, Mama? …Over!”

“Hijo, it is so risky to run away from it, according to our public relations officer. We cannot give up our logging operation there, either. A daughter-in-law who is una Tarzana? Well, as long as you love her…No problem with that, hijo; over.”

“Copy you loud and clear, Mama. But Mama, she does not act like Tarzan; okay? A village wedding will take place tonight; over.”

Por QUE, hijo…hijo mio… Por QU’E?” Mom’s voice cracked.

Si, Mama`, I have been given until eight tonight to marry her; …Over.”

Mario heard her mom’s sob, competing with the squeaks of the radio. He knew that his mom was upset. He knew that she has started worrying how to relate with Agah when Mario takes her to Manila, how her friends would take the news, and how to deal with her pride and prejudice. Like him, the mom seemed awakened from a horrible dream and there’s no way out. It was her plan to send him to Mindanao to learn the rope of their family business.

“Hush, Mama; it’s not your fault. I am love-struck. It’s love at first sight. You’d be surprised when you meet Agah. …Over.”

“Okay, then, tell the family tonight, that a formal wedding will take place in a few weeks. I will be sending a priest and a wedding planner down there this weekend. I am waiting for your dad to come home from his business trip in China. Adios, hijo. …te amo, hijo mio. Por favor, hijo mio…take care; over and out.”

“Love you, Mama. Bye… over.”

Mario hanged up and asked Ligut to look for a pig to butcher for his meeting with Agah’s brother later in the day.

“Everything is taken cared of, Pare. And don’t worry with that pig. If your parents are coming for your formal wedding later this month, then, a chicken and some bottle of San Miguel beer would be sufficient for now,” Ligut said.

Sunset came. The stumping pestles on mortars replaced the sounds of incoming and outgoing logging trucks. There were lots of people already sitting outside the yard of Agah’s house. The village chieftain was seen walking fully dressed with his beaded headgear. One truck came studded with people from Agah’s village. Every lowlander at the log pond knows that a simple tribal wedding is to take place: An augury by prying the liver of a black-feathered chicken, and an exchange of fistful of rice with some white meat between the bride and the groom following a nuptial agreement between Agah’s relative and Ligut and Mario in the presence of the village chief. Everybody would soon know that Mario is an heir of the logging company, that Agah would soon be living again in Manila, and an en grande wedding would soon takes place on a sandy bank of Agusan river, where the shotgun romance had started.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, everyone.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: HAIKU VERSES

"SEASON'S A HAIKU.
IT'S SWEET, BUT SHORT AND CONTAINED.
GLEAN AND ENJOY IT."
e.industan

There are many events in a season. Often times they are sweet; sometimes bitter. The good ones, like the holidays, we wanted them extended. The bad ones, like winter storm and devastating wild fire, we wanted them shortened. And if we couldn't, we express our discontent.

Truly, life is a season and season is a haiku. It is short. Events are generally, with some exception of course, contained. We need toenjoy every bit of it and hope that when the next cycle comes, it would b e much better than the past.

Problem is...patience in us is too short. Before we know it, we already are yawning...then, whining...then (to some extreme) wining. We forget the best of the season. Many forget God. We try to overcome our worries without God,just to realize later that without God,we really can't do much better; hence not completely satisfied, because we are nothing, just an aging economic man.

Why am I saying this? Because I have experienced it. And the only thing that made me overcome and regained my strength was to look at what's going on in every season and see the goodness of God in them and in me.

The book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses, says it. Praising has just been off the press yesterday and can now be purchased through COMFORT PUBLISHING website store. It is a good gift book this holiday season and throughout the year. Price is just $ 9.99 +s/h. I would appreciate it if you could get your copy. Thanks.

I hope and pray that may God uses the book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses to bless you and others.

Merry Christmas.

Friday, December 12, 2008

MERRY CHRISTMAS

For you, my friend, this Christmas time.

MERRY CHRISTMAS
(A Shakespearean sonnet in Acrostic)

Melodious carols playing in the air.
Exciting lights that make the world so bright
Rekindling hope for those in need of care
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! Show your heart’s delight.

Yes, yuletide’s here, let’s raise our voices high.
Christ’s birth proclaimed, ye, people of goodwill.
Hear ye, oh people, sadness you’d get by.
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! New hope to unveil!

In times like this some need a little aid.
Show them some love, portray the love of God.
The joy you’d feel so dear you won’t dare trade.
Must do this deed in truth, not just façade!

Ah, Christmas is the time to share and cheer
So share it now and all throughout the year.

(c) Edmund Melig Industan, 2008

Have a blessed one.

NOTE: 1) This sonnet in acrostic is included in my upcoming book, THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS.

2) This Christmas, I am wishing that you, my friend, will get a copy of my gift book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses, which will be in the market in early January. I just finished proofreading the final galley. "Praising..." is published by Comfort Publishing. Please take a look at its front cover. Thanks to you, my friend.



Praising All copy.jpg - Gmail

Saturday, November 15, 2008

On Navy Football Game

College football game is on fire. So even if the state of California has been disturbed by devastating wild fire from Santa Barbara county to Orange county, I cannot help but watched the game between Notre Dame Irish and Navy Midshipmen.

Well, I am a Bruin, having completed a professional program at UCLA; however, I begun to admire the Navy Midshipmen since I have watched its game against the Army last season. The Navy lost today, however they came out with a very good game and left the stadium humbly proud, accepting defeat.

Here's a Hey Poem (Dasang) that I wrote last year on the game between the Navy and the Army.

Hope you would like it.



CELEBRATE WITH FLAIR!
Edmund M. Industan

I tell you this, the way I felt…
Watching the Navy-Army game,
It’s twelve-one-seven football game.
My eyes were moist with joy of tears.

The navy won the game that day.
They cheered so extraordinarily.
Though I was no fan of either one,
I owed them hats off and respect.

The cheering fans and stalwart arms;
The weary seats and bowed heads,
So disciplined…accepted their fate,
Arms in bosom as Navies sang their hymn.

Hey!
Wish society be this way today,
Playing the game living life fairly!
Hey!
Make fantasy a reality,
But face the music with humility!

Sports have so many followers.
It squeezes juice from loans and moms.
It’s almost a religion to some,
A must to attend; acts as heroin.

It makes men act like wild animals.
Some howl as apes with letterheads;
Others come shirtless even in a cold night
Showing support for their muscled men.

For others, they’re like flowers needing rain…
Wilting, dragging their weakened limbs.
They’d stop by a watering hole before going home;
They’d gulp to drown their beat up souls.

Hey!
It’s just a game! Show your sportsmanship!
If you’d go wild, don’t spew fire with your lips.

Hey!
If your team wins, celebrate with flair.
Don’t pour the salt on a wounded soul!

Remember, the ball isn’t flat! It rolls!
It doesn’t stay on your side forevermore.
Try to wear the shoes of those who lost and
Celebrate! Like the navy cadets, so well-disciplined, that…
Peace and joy will reign for good.


NOTE: This Hey Poem is included in my book, THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Veterans Day & The Fil-Am War Veterans

November 11 is the Veterans Day to honor over 25 million military veterans in the U.S. In other countries, Nov. 11 is called Armistice Day or Remembrance Day in observance of the signing of the Armistice Treaty hurriedly signed between the Allies (Russian Empire, British Empire, France, Italy, U.S.) and Germany to end World War I. Allied Commander-in-Chief Marshall Ferdinand Foch and Germany representative Matthias Erzberger were principal signatories.

It was the 28th US President Woodrow Wilson who first proclaimed an Armistice Day dedicated to the cause of world peace. It was change to "All" Veterans Day in 1954, when Al King, a shoe vendor of Emporia, Kansas, campaigned to include all other military veterans. The 34th US President Dwight David Eisenhower who signed the name change to Veterans Day into law on May 26, 1954.

As US celebrate "the eleventh of the eleventh of the eleventh", I cannot help but remember my visit to 6 Filipino WW II veteran couples, who migrated to southern California after the 42nd President William Jefferson Blythe Clinton signed a law granting US citizenship to Filipino war veterans. (Of the 200,000 Filipinos, who responded to the 1941 call of the 32nd US President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, to help the Americans preserve peace and democracy in the Philippines, more than 17,000 war veterans came to US hoping that they would be recognized and treated fairly in terms of rights and benefits. Unfortunately, this has never happened.) These 6 Filipino veteran couples, whom our church visited in 1995, have been living in a small one-room studio, because the $500.00 pension benefit (a fraction of what the non-Filipino veterans have been receiving)was not sufficient to rent a one-bedroom apartment. So, imagine a room partitioned with curtains to give each couple their much-needed privacy. Imagine these couples with very little money left for their food, because they have to send money to their families in the Philippines, most likely, to pay the money they loaned to migrate. Tell me where the parity right lies.

The Filipino-American war veterans have been trying to demand equal rights since then. Some of them went on a hunger strike, some chained themselves to the fence of the White House and to the monument of Gen. Douglas MacArthur in Los Angeles in 1997 in order to be heard. Unfortunately, they still are fighting for their rights until now.

Currently, there is a bill known as "the Veterans Benefit Enhancement Act" (S-1513) in the US Congress. It is assumed that the bill is on the verge of natural death, because many US representatives are playing deaf and dumb. Some of them consider that Filipino war veterans are not entitled to equal benefits, because they were mustered during World War II to defend their own country. This argument is blatant lie. Philippines was still an American colony during World War II. These Filipino war veterans were fighting for the interest of the American government, not for the Philippines. It was only on July 4, 1946, when Philippine was formally proclaimed as a Republic. Don't you think they ought to have that parity rights that they have been demanding as promised by the 33rd US President Harry S. Truman that "these surviving Filipino World War II veterans will received equal treatment as American veterans?

I just hope that the US Congress and Senate will open their eyes and ears to realize the tough living condition of the Filipino-American war veterans.

In the spirit of Veterans Day, I salute the war veterans, particularly those who still are fighting for their rights to be heard.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Cali's Prop. 8 Has Won! Get Over it!

Proposition 8 was the most expensive and controversial proposition in California during the Presidential election. An estimated total of $80 million were spent during the campaign. Sadly, those who opposed Prop. 8 are still spending more money to support protest march, which has been going on from San Francisco to San Diego. It is even believed that this protest rally would reach Salt Lake City, Utah.

If this proposition was for the State of California, how come the oppositions are going to hold protest rally in Utah? It is because they are specifically angry at the Mormon church for chipping in too much dollars to campaign against same-sex marriage.

Yes, Proposition 8 is a bill sponsored by those who are against same-sex marriage. It won over a slim margin, 52.3% yes to 47.7% no.

I know why the oppositions are having protest marches. They wanted to influence or delay the decision of the State to go ahead with the constitutional amendment. This follows the idea of the U.S. political scientist Robert Dahl (1956, 1963), one of the beautiful characteristics of democracy.

Come on, the election is over. Face defeat. Blame yourself. Oppositions should have spent double-time, triple-time, or gazillion time campaigning against Prop. 8 before the election if they really wanted to win. Unfortunately, they didn't. Probably, they were so over-confident that they could muster the popular vote of Californians after the State Supreme Court thwarted their 2004 decision, that annulled the 3,995 same-sex marriages allowed by Mayor Gavin of San Francisco, on May 15, 2008. Since May almost 18,000 same-sex marriages licenses were issued, according to a UCLA study. They probably never thought that many Californians are still highly into their religious values. Many Californians still cannot divorce marriage from their Christian belief that marriage is ordained by God to be a man-woman relationship.

I just hope that those who are for same-sex marriage would look at it differently. Even though an amendment to the California constitution to specifically acknowledge that marriage is a bond between a man and a woman, their right to cohabit, their right to display their love in public, their right for hospital visitation, their right to own and share property together are still not taken away from them. It is only the privilege of tying a knot in marriage that are not freely given to them.

Every Californians has rights. Oppositions of Prop. 8 were just out-voted during the election. So, let's get over it.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

FIRST MIXED RACE U.S. PRESIDENT

It would still be monumental and historic to say that the 44th President of the USofA is a mixed race and not be labeled solely as African-American. In fact, it would be more fitting to the American society. Why? I tell you why.

It would mitigate race relation and racial divide. It is a non-domineering term. It embodies the real USofA as a melting pot. It symbolizes the real democratic country populated by migrants. It helps everyone to identify and, hopefully, unite with, and support Obama administration as it faces challenges in solving pressing problems. It brings hope and aspiration to everybody.

As we probably have known already, the term African-American was revitalized in the late 1980s to replace the term, Afro-American, a self description popularized by the black community in 1960s. The former is well-accepted by many, because it does not send a picture of nappy hair. However, others, like the Haitian, who are of African descent, would not identify themselves as such. Haitian still prefers to be called black. Some members of the African-American community, like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr. have described this as America's "hypocrisy". And so until now the 1944 classic study of Swedish economist, Gunnar Myrdal, on the American Dilemma still exist.

It is true that the 44th President of the United States of America has an African father; however, he has a Caucasian mother, and an Indonesian step-dad. He is not only an African-American. He is a United Nation, personified. That's one thing, besides his smartness, confidence, youthfulness, and intelligence, that made him very attractive to everybody. Remember, more than 50% of those who voted for Barack Obama were Caucasian. And Asian have voted for him, too.

I just hope that the media and, Barack Obama himself, would start using the term mixed race, so that the incoming administration can truly represent equality and indivisibility among the citizens of the United States of America.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

A POETRY BLOG & A THOUGHT ON UNICEF PROGRAM

Well, Halloween is over. Today is the UNICEF day... time to donate some "Old Presidents" as this United Nation's organization help educate and nourish young minds in developing countries.

Yes, I still cannot forget those years in the early 60s, when I helped my grade school teacher-mom, opened those huge tins of golden cheese and bags of powdered whole milk from the UNICEF. To many Filipinos, who live in the rural areas, cheese was never a part of their meals; hence, cheese was absolutely introduced by the UNICEF program to them. Initially, many kids did not like the taste; however, teachers like my mom, patiently educated the kids of its nutritional value. Slowly, the kids begin to like it. Before the end of the school year, most wanted to have a bigger share of it so that their parents could have some, too. And the powdered whole milk? Oh, the schoolchildren loved them. Kids were always ready with their cone-shaped paper for that powdered milk. They wanted to be the first person in the line. As the kids were going home from school, most of them were sipping the powdered milk through a small hole at the tip of those cone-shaped paper. So, friends, I, for one, would like to see the UNICEF program go on. Hope you are, too.

Meanwhile, here is the last part of my special story blog, The Curse. This is the poetry version. You also can read this in my book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom. Enjoy!


(14) SAVING A DEAR CHILD
Edmund melig Industan

The wailing stopped! Some gasped in disbelief.
Seems it's the last oink at a slaughterhouse.
It slowly faded, hush was all around
Not one in jungle wailed again that night.

I won't forget that rainy night of yore.
A mom with ember cried in pain…for help.
An infant was about to see his grave,
For jungle culture is in darkest night.

The smoke of death had passed through villages.
The child's mom inhaled, kicked the bucket.
With culture so unique and so mundane,
This nursing child, considered the culprit.

The ember left, I followed it in haste.
…Unmindful of the muddy narrow trail.
My thought was on a roller coaster ride.
The prayer I made, the only calming state.

The chanting wail got loud as loud can be,
…As I edged closer to that bark-walled shack.
The soft and somber tune of bamboo lute,
I now can hear amidst the oinks and barks.

Just as I started climbing that chipped log
The shaman yelled a yapping, 'wo-wo-wo!'
Warding the evil off with frond of palm
That village could be freed from frightful woe.

Just as my head surfaced that squeaking floor…
The child, I saw, half-naked that cold night.
As he saw me, he cried with opened arms…
As if to tell me, 'Please, save me tonight!'

I tip-toed 'round the corpse that lay in state…
Around the spouse, who's laid there fetus-form.
Picked up the child and swayed him in my arms…
And calm him from a dreadful crying bout.

As soon as comfort came to this poor child,
The wails of kin and chants of shaman rolled.
Consoling words I gave, but not enough!
Most kin would like to see the child dead!

'He's curse! He'd kill again someday.
Our forebear wouldn't want… see him alive!
The pestle's ready! Press his neck tonight!
That curse will end and joy… is here again!'

As catalyst, I tried and tried so hard.
I gave them reasons known in heaven and earth.
But shaman's word's so strong, and mine was weak.
Until I stood and said, "I'd take the curse!"

The chirping crickets stopped; the silence heard!
And there's no hooting owl was overheard!
Right then, I knew, I'd stop! The battle's won!
Flee darkness! Flee! Oh, light! Illuminate!

At last, the grandma's nod was quietly given.
The tapping rain had stopped; the stars have shown.
The grips, I felt, from teeny-tiny hand
Seemed saying,' Thanks! You're here…now I'm alive!'

I left the stilt shack with a swaddled child…
Feeling the stares of eyes in darkness loomed.
A force seemed pushing me to a sure doom.
In prayer I whispered, 'Thanks…now, be my guide.'

Maybe you wonder after two decades.
I'm still alive! Still Kicking! Humbly proud!
The jungle came to know what's wrong and right
…The child? Oh, yes! My child is still alive.

(c) edmund industan, 2007

NOTE: Those who still have not gotten a copy of KOILAWAN, check it out now in your favorite online book outlets. The book is still available in 21 countries. A portion of my royalty fee will go to the Ata Manobo Literacy Fund of the Translators Association of the Philippines, a non-profit Christian organization that I used to head before I migrated to the USofA.

Friday, October 31, 2008

SPECIAL SHORT STORY BLOG (Part 2)

Hey Y'all,

It's Halloween! Many kids and adult will be out in the street tonight trick or treating. The night will be spooky with lighted jack-o-lanterns and masked and dressed-up people walking around; however, most kids and kids-at-heart will be happy to have all the sweets and goodies they can have for November, and maybe for Christmas. LOL.

My experienced among the Ata Manobo was scary, but I knew God was with me. It also was a blessing, because it was one way that God answered my prayer about something. But you have to get the book, KOILAWAN, to know what is it.

Meantime, please enjoy reading the second and the last installment of the story, The Curse.


Since my stay in Koilawan, I heard several reports from
other villages of babies killed by their grieving families.
The babies were left in a village to die, placed in the coffin
and buried with the mom alive, or killed by pressing their
necks with a long wooden pestle. It still didn’t happen in our
village, because many of the villagers were already learning
and accepting the infallibility of God’s Word. Nevertheless,
this bereaved family was a new resident in our village and
one of those families, who still have not attended in any of
our Bible studies.

Tonight, I noticed something inside which was
uncommon in an Ata Manobo hut. It was a meter and a half
wooden pestle. To see it inside was so nerve-wracking that
I immediately paused for a silent prayer that God will guide
me to persuade the family not to let the baby die. I firmly
believed that without God’s intervention, the baby will be
6-feet under the following day.

The village chief was already there. The shaman, whose
hut was grandiosely standing few yards away, was audibly
chanting pleading for the malevolent spirit to spare the
village from harm. The grieving husband was lying on his
side like a fetus on the bark floor very close to the corpse.
The uncombed mother-in-law picked a charcoal and drew
a circle around the area where her son-in-law was lying
quietly. Then, the chief said, “Nephew (as he fondly calls me
to signify my acceptance in the village), I tried to convinced
them not to put the blame on the baby, however, the grandmother,
the shaman, and the uncles were against it. Please
try to talk them out of it.”

With all the programs in the village, the clinic, children’s
literacy class in the morning, adult’s literacy class in the
afternoon, the singing and the Bible Studies in the night
which usually ends at 10 p.m., hymn translation, counseling,
and entertaining village visitors, my use of the Ata language
has been non-stop; hence, I have been becoming more fluent
with it. Nevertheless, when the chieftain delegated the role of
persuading the family, I felt a lump in my throat. It was diffi
cult for me to open my mouth. I knew that I needed wisdom
of a smart and witty Ata chieftain for them to listen.
I was about to say a word when the baby twitched his
arms. I thought that it was nothing; however, I realized
he was having a backdoor trot. I handed him over to that
woman, who braved the rain, to clean him up.

“Oyyyyy…,” the grandmother began chanting a pentatonic
dirge. “Tomorrow, I won’t see you anymore, my
beautiful girl.” She sobbed in between lines. “Oyyyy….
Who would gather firewood now, who would dig yams for
dinner, who would weed the field ….now that you’ve left
us? Oyyyy….my breath is in pain”. She paused longer to sob
some more. Then, with an angered voice, she said, “You’re
gone, because of your child!” And she looked at the child, so
angry that her puffy brown eyes were so sharp. They could
pierce through a callous heart.

The uncles, who, like the mother, were mad at the baby,
nodded in concert. One of them reached for the wooden
pestle lifted it… then putting it behind him.
I took the lifting of the pestle as a good sign. Such action
made me to believe that the baby has left a soft spot in some
of these hearts. I looked at the guy to acknowledge his action,
but he spewed a big lump of red betel nut in response. I was
lost, in a few seconds, to see such rude response, however, I
felt, later, that it probably was just a showmanship to fool the
others on what’s deep in his heart.

The shaman made a much louder hair-raising chant.
There were thumping of feet that the dogs barked; the pig
sheltering under the stilt hut oinked. Some women from
nearby huts responded with their most common expression,
“Yoooogoy! Hmmm!”

“I know you are sad tonight. I am, too. You know how I
tried my best to feed her with water and porridge this afternoon,
when the mom took her to my house. But we all must
accept that the entire tribe, including our village, has been
undergoing some trials in life. It is nobody’s fault. The wind
brought the epidemic to us.”

“Yes, it is somebody’s fault. It is his fault!” The grandmother
pointed at the baby with her puckered lips. The red
betel nut juice was dripping on the side of her mouth. “He’s
the one who sucked the strength of my daughter. He must
not live!”

The uncles nodded again almost in unison.
“Apu (grandmother), the baby did nothing wrong. Your girl
was already very sick, when you came back from running to the
thickest forest to avoid the sickness. In fact, your grandson is
now very light and thin. It means that he had been denied of the
“white blood” (milk) even before your girl got sick. What good
does it do to you now, if you would kill the baby? Nothing! Give
him the chance to live…to grow and learn how to build a hut, hunt
wild games, make a kamot (Swidden field) to provide your food
in the future.” I tried my best to be calmed, yet strong enough to
instill authority. However, it seemed not good enough.
The uncles and the grandmother stood up and yelled a deafening
wild shriek of lament. One uncle started to brandish his
machete. The baby was stunned and cried frantically.
“Lord, please intervene!” That was all I could whisper.

While looking at them, I felt a force that made me got up. And
without waiting for them to calm down, I shouted, “Alright! I
take the curse. You believe this innocent baby is cursed, because
his mom died, while drinking her white blood. And I know that
you also believe that if someone would take the curse off him, he
would be free from it. Now, I am taking it. I do not have experience
taking care of a baby, much more… nourishing a malnourished
baby. But I would take the risk of keeping him. Should he
die, it means that he really is cursed; hence, I am willing for you
all to kill me!” Tearfully I pleaded. In the Ata society, men do
not cry.

The uncles and the grandmother looked at me in disbelief.
Here was the guy, who they thought was very brave to live with
them all by himself, but now he’s crying just to save a cursed
baby. They all quietly sat down. I heard the shaman made a
hard, strange, unpleasant, emphatic, guttural sound, ‘uhhh!’ to
express his disapproval contrary to the voices of the village chief
and the people from around the hut. I was silent! I was praying.
I claimed the power of God, when He protected the Israelites
from the Egyptians, who were chasing them before they crossed
the Red Sea (Exodus 14:21-31). This grandmother was known
to have a heart of a stone. She’s an avid follower of the Shaman.
She even won’t build a hut away from the shaman. She’s not
open to hearing God’s word. But, God moved in a mysterious
way. He can really move mountain for after several minutes, she
nodded sternly staring at me. I replied with a gentle nod, took the
baby from that smiling woman who asked my help earlier, and
then, started to descend slowly down that old wobbly chipped
log. I left the hut very happy and relieved. I was overjoyed for
the victory. I prayed thanking God and trusting that out of this
event, on this pitch dark night Light will continue to shine not
only in Koilawan, but in the entire Ata Manobo tribe.
While walking away from the hut, it seemed that I heard
singing and chanting from far away accompanied by the
swooshing wind and the swaying trees. But at the same time,
it seemed that some forces were blowing a very cold air on my
nape that I felt my hair rising up. One thing that I was sure of that
night was that the rain stopped. The baby held my shoulder so
tight, while we traversed the muddy trail. It seemed he was telling
me, ‘Thank you for saving me!’ And I pretty can remember that
I said, “Thank you, Lord, for giving me the courage to say those
words. Indeed, you are powerful. Indeed, I will need you to keep
this baby alive. So, come near me, Lord Jesus.”

Do you know why I said earlier that this child was an answer
to my prayer? Well, Parasio, I’ll tell you why next time.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

SHORT STORY POST (Part 1): A Special Blog

Hey Y'all,

I just took my granddaughter, who is turning two today, to Party City for her halloween/birthday costume. And, oh boy, imagine how she shrieked when she saw an animated mannequin that raises its bloody face every now and then, which was standing right by the door.

Yes, my friends, halloween is huge in the USofA that many people forget the economic crunch as they try their best to catch or stir the public attention by putting up the scariest or controversial decor outside their homes and business establishments. Besides jack-o-lantern and ornamental squash, one house in Beverly Hills put up two mannequins, who are dressed like Republican candidates, Sen. John McCain and Gov. Sarah Palin. Sad thing, Ms. Palin is hanging on a nooze. It was a smart move, though, that the one on a nooze isn't the Democrat candidate Barack Obama. It could have resulted a commotion and protest rally from the African-American communities.

Now, enough of the US culture. I also have experienced a scary cultural moments in my life. One of these was when I was working among the Ata Manobo of southern Philippines. I have decided to share the story to you if you haven't read it yet in my book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom, which is still available in 21 countries through online book outlets. You also could get it from the publisher, Xulon Press.


(13) THE CURSE

Koilawan, Davao
January 1980


Dear Parasio,

Rain was pouring so hard since this morning. River Lib was bursting to its seams. The cornfield by the river was already flooded since this afternoon. Drift woods and
bamboo saplings were floating and making those banging and screechy noise as they hit the rocky riverbank. Those who owned the saplings were sad for losing them, and one father was sadder for also losing his baby boy. I went to see him this morning and I felt bad to hear him telling me that he should have listened to my instruction of making that salt and sugar boiled water solution. His baby should have been alive today. He cared less for losing the saplings, however, he was hurting, because of his stubbornness. Usually, along with the rapping of the raindrops on our old wood shingle roofing, chants and tribal lullabies reverberate up and down this small remote village. However, tonight, besides the banging, the screeching and the swooshing in river Lib, the village is generally quiet.

I was rocking myself on a rattan chair, while listening to the rain-induced percussion music and looking at the flickering light of our gas lamp. The raindrops and the flame were having fun lulling me to sleep, when a quiet night was interrupted by shrill cries from one of the stilt huts. I stood up, held the gas lamp, opened our bamboo window and shouted, “Wuhhhh! What’s going on?”

“The wife of Usi’ U. passed away!” Our next door neighbor shouted in reply.

I sank back to the chair forlorn. I lost the strength I regained awhile back from a real long day giving cholera shots and teaching reading and writing to the kids. Few hours ago, I spoon-fed water to that dehydrated feverish woman. Now, she’s dead!

“God”, as I prayed silently, “Please let this epidemic pass by. Let the people….” I was not able to finish my sentence when I heard a woman’s voice at our rain-soaked trimmed Bermuda grass yard. I opened the window again. The woman, whose right
hand was holding a long, slender banana leaf over her head to protect her from the rain; the other was swaying an ember, was the niece of the decease.

“Please come to our hut. Help me save my aunt’s four-month old baby boy.”

Without putting my old running shoes on, I picked up my flashlight and ran the filthy, muddy trail to the stilt hut where the wailing was deafening. The baby was also crying hysterically. After I greeted those on the ground, I began to balance myself up on that slippery, wobbly chipped log, which was just a little bigger than a 26 oz. can of spaghetti sauce. Before I was able to sit on a squeaking bark floor, my heart melted to see the curly-haired malnourished baby boy, looking at me with his arms opened wide. His wide eyes seemed to tell me that he did nothing wrong… that I have to do something to save him. I picked him up, placed him on my chest, and gently patted his back to silent him. The baby hugged me and his loud cry turned into off and on sob until he quieted down, asleep.

Since my stay in Koilawan, I heard several reports from other villages of babies killed by their grieving families. (To be continued)

NOTE: Part 2 will be posted on Friday. Part 3 will be posted on Saturday, as my regular weekend blog.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Race and Immigration Interest: Factors in the US Election

November 4 is just eight days away and responsible and concerned Americans should have all voted as to who will be their next commander-in-chief. Would it be a "donkey", Sen. Barack Obama, or an "elephant", Sen. John McCain?

My friend in Namibia, a republic in South-West Africa bounded by Angola, Zambia, Botswana, South Africa, and the Atlantic Ocean, told me that Namibians would like to see Obama win. My friends in the Philippines, a republic in South-East Asia with more or less 7,100 islands, would like Sen. Obama to win. My Indonesian-American friend is definitely for Barack Obama.

Besides the youthfulness of Sen. Barack Obama, I am assuming that racial affinity and migration interest are pulling voters to the Democratic camp.

In order for me to solidify my hunches, I went around Pasadena, a beautiful city in Southern California, to ask non-Caucasian Americans in parks, city streets, churches, and at Paseo de Colorado on their possible presidential votes. Almost all of those I asked would be voting for Sen. Barack Obama. Reasons given were the following: born and raised in an interracial family, experienced normal living in other countries, received a short humble education in Indonesia would help him understand international issues, particularly the immigration concerns of many foreign-born Americans.

Immigration issues were never talked about during the three presidential debates. Topics were focused on the pressing need to find solution to the economic woes. However, deep in the heart of many foreign-born Americans, they are counting for Sen. Barack Obama to positively address a comprehensive immigration reform, which was one of the hottest senatorial and congressional debates in 2007.

Definitely, the African and Asian population would like to see the democrat win. The name and the Kenyan blood that runs in Obama's vein, and his affinity and his little taste of elementary education in Indonesia are factors to their votes.

According to a 2006 study on "The Immigration Population of the United States..." by Jack Martin, one in every eight US residents is foreign-born, and California has the largest. With that said, I am tempted to say, "Beginning in January 2009, the first mixed-race President of the United States of America will begin his term."

So, American voters, go out on the 4th of November and vote.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

The American Middle School

During my teaching stint in Texas in the 90s, all the teachers were given t-shirts that says, "I'm in the middle and loving it!" In January, my fellow teacher, whose homeroom was across mine, came to me just before we left for the day. She showed her shirt. It says, "I'm in the middle and hating it!" A month before the end of the school year, she came to me again and showed me the same t-shirt. However, this time it says, "I'm in the middle and I'm quitting it!" That was it. She did not come back the following school year. She got tired "policing" these middle school kids.

Then,in 2004, I read, "Focus on the Wonder Years: Challenges Facing the American Middle School", a study done under the auspices of RAND Education (Juvonen,J., Augustine,C., et.al, 2004). The objectives of the study: To assess the state of the middle schools, particularly on its effectiveness in bringing about academic achievement, and to identify the school's major challenges to effectuate its function. It was a good study; however, most of its recommendations were vague and (for me) very weak.

Three recommendations of RAND study were the following: Offer intervention for the lowest performing students, possibly including summer programs...; adopt comprehensive disciplinary models that focus on preventing discipline problem and changing social norms or peer culture that fosters antisocial behavior, and offer parents information about the academic and instructional goals and methods used in middle grades and suggests activities to facilitate learning at home.

Since I once a participant in and an observer of the American Middle School education, I would like to comment and suggest.

Indeed, there is a great need to intervene, to come up with disciplinary models, and to suggests some learning activities at home and inform parents with what is going on at school. And indeed, these were not new. I taught the middle school kids in 1993 and my school have been implementing actions similar to RAND recommendations. Nevertheless, many fellow teachers were still not very effective in teaching these kids. Main problem were the lack of DISCIPLINE and RESPECT among these kids. So, why can't the educational system zero in on these problems? We all know that without discipline and respect, no education can take place. Without discipline and respect, no class is conducive to learning. Without discipline and respect, infightings and bullying among kids will be the common sight of the day. That is why middle school teachers would say that they are paid to "police" these kids.

Definitely, we were acting as police officers, during my middle school teaching stint. Teachers were in the school ground just before class, not to socialize with the kids, but to avoid fights and be ready to break a fight between these kids. Then, in between class periods, we were on our feet standing by the hallway for the same reason. In class, we always were in the look out of possible bullying and unruly behavior, which usually happened even before the completion of a 5-minute language drill. Ironically, we were strictly required to follow (and complete) the prescribed lessons of the day, which often times unexplained well (because many kids, who have attention deficit disorder (ADHD) do not want to listen anymore); hence, teacher ended up giving seat works for them to sit still. The school copying room was always busy. The resources alloted for ink cartridges and copying papers were depleted before spring break.

Hopefully, the incoming president of the USofA would push the educational system to a reform that could response to the disciplinary problem in the middle school. Frankly, US has no problem with the elementary schools. Effective instruction have been taking place from Head Start to 5th grade. Colleges and universities are still top-notch, still the best in the world. It is the middle school (6th to 8th grades) that American educational system is problematic. And middle school education is crucial. It is the period when kids undergo multiple physical, social, and psychological changes. It is the period when testosterone and progesterone are activated and jumping, trying to get loose like crazy. It is the period of experimentation and assertion of self. It is the period when kids try to challenge leadership both at home and at school. Incorporating a "military" program in the curriculum could be a solution to the problem. Why not try it?

Saturday, October 18, 2008

US Presidential Debate On Education

Last question of the moderator, Mr. Schieffer, during the final presidential debate at Hofstra University on October 15th was on education. Both Senators, Barack Obama and John McCain, specifics did not meet my expectation. I thank them, though, for not forgetting parents as a significant factor in the success of education. I am just sad that Mr. Obama considered parents as the last ingredients, and McCain considered them solely as a decision maker as to where their kids go.

What American education really needs are change of priority, equality of compensation and attention, and complete trust and support for its classroom teachers.

Most teachers are very good and gifted; however, it is also true that there are few bad tomatoes among them. Teachers were not born yesterday. They pretty well know what are in store for them in the classroom. They were trained as educators for 4 years and have passed the certification exams. Therefore, America does not need to have what Obama called new generation of teachers and what McCain suggested to weed out poor-performers. Ousting bad teachers have been going on ever since. That's the reason why the school administrators do both announced and unannounced evaluation of classroom teachers' performance several times in a school year.

The USofA needs to change priority in its educational system. It needs to emphasize the 3Rs not just math and science. It is just too bad that many schools are now emphasizing non-academic programs, like competitive sports. I cannot forget the shock while teaching middle school in Port Arthur, Texas. I learned that the entry level salary of a football coach was twice as much as the academic teachers. (And check the differences of a college coach salary to an academic professor. It could be worst.) With the incongruity of salaries, tell me, what is the priority and what signal are we sending to the school children, not to mention the kids' knowledge on the salaries of professional athletes. If schools would continue to instill and reinforce the culture of sports, there's no way for America to improve its educational system.

It needs to emphasize students' discipline in the classroom. And America needs to give complete trust and support as to how teachers instill discipline and manage their classroom as long as such discipline program is not abusive. The problem facing the system nowadays is the fear of teachers of being ousted by the district or sued for "excessive" discipline by over-protective parents. True, there is a need to monitor the disciplinary action of every teacher, but to create the feeling of fear does not help teachers with their classroom management. Time outs and putting middle school student in a corner are barely helping, especially if there are 30 rowdy students in a classroom. There was a time when I was tempted to yell at a student,"Settle down or I'll whack your butt real hard." Parents can say that to their kids, but why is it abusive for teachers to threaten them like the parents do? Yes, teachers could send undisciplined kids to the assistant principal office to be paddled, but what help does the paddling do when students ended up coming back to the classroom with a wide grin on their faces, because the paddling were not painful at all. Slight whacking is, for me, a complete joke. And for the students? They consider it fun (or funny)and an opportunity to be out of the classroom.

I would like to suggest that when a rowdy kid needs whacking, the school should call on the parents. Have that parents come to school and have them whack their own kids right in front of the assistant principal. I believe this would achieve active participation of parents to the education of their kids, at the same time, free the school personnel from their fear of being sued. Pulling off TV set and putting away video games is not complete participation of parents in their kid's education. Having them come to school and actively participate in the disciplinary action is, to me, a real active participation. But ask any public school teacher what happened during an "open house" and PTA meetings? Teachers would tell you that there would be very few parents come if attendance would not be checked. But ask the parents what they'd do if they heard their kids hurt or complained of being abused. Parents would sprint to the principal office and elevate their complaints to the school board.

Look what happen recently at Simeon High School in Chicago. A volleyball coach was ousted for employing corporal punishment to the players. Chicago Sun-Times(Oct. 8)quoted this statement from the overly protective mom,"...I couldn't believe it. I lost my mind." Did she asked the kid why? Did she try to rationalize the coaches action or did she immediately went berserk. It seemed that the latter was true. Did the school board asked themselves, why were the other kids mad at this kid after the coach resigned?

The rowdiness of students can never be discouraged if teachers are even afraid to stop a fistfight in their classrooms. Teachers are not only afraid to be hurt, they are afraid to be sued by the parents if they accidentally pushed or touch a sensitive part of the student. One Caucasian science teacher at the school where I taught was asked to resign by the school board after he accidentally pushed one of the two African-American kids, who had a fistfight, onto a wall. I was a little bit fortunate that my principal and most of my students were on my side, when a rowdy 7th grader, complained that I touched her breast. Her parents immediately rushed to the principal office. I was made to explain the case. Other students were interviewed. The principal considered the allegation unfounded. The parents threatened me to take it to the school board. The parents were not successful in convincing the district, so they ended up threatening me on the phone.

I cannot forget while my colleague and I were on our way to a professional development workshop in Beaumont, Texas. My colleague told me that she gets frustrated, because even with all these development trainings, it seems that the principles and methodologies that she learned at the university and in seminars and workshops are ineffective. I knew she loved to teach. I knew she was smart. She was even teaching an honor's English class. I told her that probably what we need in order for teachers to teach effectively is a training on military strategy and tactic.

Look! Military curriculum is an elective course in American educational system and it is offered to high school kids, while it is a prescribed program in other countries. Why could we not have a compulsory military training among the middle school kids, where discipline (or shall I say classroom management) have been very problematic. Military program instills discipline and develops proper conduct,not competition. This would help take care of querulous and rowdy kids.

So there you are, my friends. Yes, we need to correct the American education system, but we don't only need to remunerate our teachers well and re-prioritize the school program. We need to strongly show our complete trust and support to the teachers' classroom management, and to require parents to board the ship and actively participate in in-school disciplinary actions.


NOTE: For Filipino readers, I wrote another weekend blog exclusive to GreatPinoy.com. I would appreciate it very much if you also could check it out. Maraming salamat!

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

A Hey Poem (Dasang) on Voting Govt. Officials

I am anxiously looking forward to the third and the last US Presidential Debate, which will be held tonight at Hofstra University in Hempstead, New York.

In line with the debate and the coming presidential election, I decided to post another experimental performance poetry, the Hey Poem, entitled Voters, Wake Up! This poem has been included in my upcoming book, THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS.


VOTERS, WAKE UP!
Edmund M. Industan


A blot of an ink on a boxed paper board;
A hit of that screen with names that we know,
An effort from us with hope that it would
Better the globe; changed rotting world.

Soar to the world! See how they perform.
First year o’erflows with peaches and cream;
Following months served with decaying fruit…
Good to the cronies; bad to those who can’t be reached
With the magic wand of the elected!

But hey!
It is ‘them’ fault? Or it’s ‘us’ to blame!

Hey!
We put them there! And we sleep and dream!


Hey!
The bed of roses would slip so fast…
Then we’re awake, we cried for a failed task!

We muster the disgruntled; we marched to the street.
To the leaders, we’re roaches to be quashed and contained.
We joined forces to startle and threaten
Wishing for more strength! But alas! ‘twas hard to gain.

Many of us would raise our hands up.
Others would show thumbs down for the lame.
The herd disoriented! Others jumped off! Some were maimed!
Those voices so strong before…now just whispers of dying men.

But hey!
It’s not the end! The full term will come!
Let’s educate every man this time!
Let’s cast our vote wisely mark for those
Candidates, who have brains and brawns…
Morals pleasing to God and not just to men!

(c) e. industan, 2007



I hope and pray that voters will vote wisely on Nov. 4th.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

MY TAKE ON NATIONAL SENTIMENT

Here we go again. Scriptwriters and actors continue to hit Filipinos below the belt. I understand. They wanted to make their TV programs draw more viewers. Nevertheless, if they do it at the expense of someone’s dignity, to the extent that it results to a skewed stereotyping, that’s a different story. The problem is that many actors are so irresponsible that they would just blurt anything a scriptwriter would put in their mouths and late night talk show hosts would scour for funny dialogue to keep their viewers awake.

First case was on September 30, 2007. Susan in “Desperate Housewives” boldly said, “Can I just check those diplomas because I just want to make sure that they are not from some med school in the Philippines.” This was a dialogue between Susan and her gynecologist. Next was on October 25, 2007. Late night talk show host, Jimmy Kimmel, while interviewing actor Josh Hartnett said, “(in the Philippines) people probably don’t speak English there”. Now, similar case has happened in the U.K. A comedian included in his performance a Filipina domestic helper, who was flirting and acting like dumb with her British master. Such irresponsible dialogue and showmanship maybe flattering to many, but (oh, boy!) it is a live coal waiting to rekindle the national sentiment to others.

National sentiment is a sense of collective solidarity by a group within identified geographical and cultural boundaries. It sparks when an outsider unfairly treats them. Such treatment, more or less, draws emotional, impulsive, irrational, regressive, with high intensity to the subjected cultural group. That has been happening among the Filipino communities, not only in USA and U.K. With easy access to electronic communication highway, such sentiment quickly spreads in other parts of the world.

Depending on the harshness of the event, responses by subjected group may vary. Anger, disgust, strike, picket, demonstration, boycott, mob, lynching, and those who see TV programs as purely entertainment see it as a matter of art. Nationalistic individuals, who have strong affinity to their country of origin or those who have experienced indifference from their host culture or another cultural group would react vehemently. Mentally unstable individual could react injuriously. Bicultural and assimilated individuals would take it ambivalent.

Just like individualistic artist, I take my national sentiment differently. Besides boycotting, (I haven’t watched “Desperate Wives” and “Jimmy Kimmel Live” since then) I paint and etch the event in paper hoping that those who could read it would get a kernel of history lesson in it. Hence, I wrote this “Hey Poem”, which is an experimental performance poetry adapted from the indigenous Dasang of the Higa-onon tribe in southern Philippines against the words of the late night talk show host, Jimmy Kimmel.


LOOK! WHO’S TALKING
Edmund Melig Industan


Oh, yeah! That midnight show on ABC.
And Josh Hartnett was with Jimmy.
They talked about the film per se
That’s partly shot in the Philippines.

I watched and listened with delight. (Oh, yeah)
Nostalgia purling with my insomnia
I watched the antic with a grin until
The host said they can’t speak our English there.

Hey!
My blood has spurted so high!
Hey!
Bellagio fountain… that high!
Hey!
My head has spanned ‘round three sixty.
It triggered a fiery anxiety.

I’m pinoy! I speak English well. Not a lie!
But I’m just a piece of that whole brown pie.
I even taught English to Texan kids;
So, check your mouth, more research, you need.

It is true that some pinoys could only say,
‘Hey! Chocolate, Joe!’ ‘Hey! Cigarette, Joe!’
But, please, don’t dare say that leaf is a tree;
Don’t leave out adjective ‘some’ off the tree.

Hey!
Though we speak English with gongs;
Hey!
So loud that they’re bikers’ “broom”!
Hey!
And others need to learn it well!
But don’t dare label that all don’t speak
English that well.

Think of your name, for once, Mr. Host.
It does not sound a “Smith” or a “Post”.
Trace where your blood originally sprung;
Check if they can speak the universal tongue.


Should you find the other way, you’re lucky.
Should you find they’re like what you say?
You’re sorry! You just hammered yourself
With an infected nail that breaks our society.

Hey!
I’m going to say this to you!
Hey!
Those tactless thought and racial jokes!
Hey!
They’re hard to chew as rubbery meat.
Well-done for safety sake! It’s not worth it!

Hey!
It tastes like bile in castor oil!
Hey!
It’s bitter, cleanses…entire bowel!
Hey!
It makes cold sweat that so gooey;
It could blow someone’s head away!

But hey!
We don’t need more brutality.
We need relation…harmony!
Your role as a celebrity is
Quell the fire spreading in the city.

So hey!
You let your voice fly high so high.
Let those night owls laugh hard but have them sigh.
Fly as a dove on sleepless night
Bringing olive spray to those in-fights!

We ought to check what we say on the air
Pay attention to those modifiers!
…For labeling and generalizing?
Not the best way to peace and understanding.

© edindustan, 2007

I hope everybody will become sensitive to the feelings of other people, especially when one is talking about people outside of his race. PEACE!

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

AILING ECONOMY: Yeah! What Now?

The world’s economy is in trouble. The population, both the consumers and the producers, need prescriptions on how to survive. Consumers need comforting words to calm their worried souls. Producers need resuscitation from reckless game of extravagance and greed.

On July 11, while having my morning walk, I passed by a queue of people outside IndyMac Bank in Pasadena, California. Their faces and tones showed anger and apprehension. This was the first sign of economic problem in my locality. The US federal government stepped up and took control of the bank to calm the livid depositors. More banking and lending businesses followed suit. On Friday, October 3, a 700 Billion dollar bill was quickly signed by President Bush to bailout the ailing US economy.

Similarly, European economy has been in trouble. Associated Press reported on Sunday, Oct. 5, that European governments are scrambling to save failing banks. Germany held crisis talks to avoid distressing the entire economy after Hype Real Estate AG collapsed. Belgium’s Fortis NV is also in shaky ground. Iceland government and banking officials have also discussed a possible rescue plan for its overstretched commercial bank (see Prof. Piggington’s Econo-Almanac for Landed Poor website, Oct. 5)

In Asia, children are getting sick. Before, it was from lead-tainted toys and mercury-treated Tilapia fish from China. Now, it’s from food products with milk ingredients. The Chinese economic greed and quick-rich scheme led them to add melamine to their food products to boost protein content. It is now becoming a global concern. In fact, on Oct. 2, an independents laboratory, which was commissioned by the Philippine Bureau of Food and Drugs (BFD), positively tested melamine in 8 of the 14 food products that were imported from China. A sign of good governance, BFD also ordered two meat products to be tested. Surprise, surprise! One of the two meat products was found to be melamine-positive. The laboratory owner said that the meat could have come from livestock, which were given melamine-tainted feeds (ABS-CBN 5 News, Oct. 3). It’s comforting, though, to know that the Chinese government had stepped up its investigation. Finally, it had detained 6 suspects from Hothot, Mongolia, China’s main dairy-producing area (ABS-CBN 5 Online News, Oct. 6).

Who is to blame for this economic crisis? Certainly, the producers or the business corporations! Government has to be blamed. And… even the consumers have to take a little of the blame, too.

Business is a complex web about production, distribution, and exchange of goods and services. Production is dictated by demand; profit is dictated by producer’s greed. Without a stringent governance of the government, profit-driven producers will always attempt to circumvent the government regulation to get rich as quick as possible. That’s how informal economic network, like sweatshops and subcontracts, have proliferated. The main producers do not mind how products are produced. They just wanted to have the goods out in the market. Subcontractors do not mind how they produced the goods. They just wanted to meet their production quota to meet the producers’ demand. With both informal and formal economic network operating and humongous tons of products circulating the complex global economy, the problem cannot be detected easily. So, gone are the days when economics adamantly preaches “quality control”. Look what’s happening to the Chinese exported products! It seemed that quality control was never imposed!

Government considers cities or urban areas as sites of concrete operations of economy. Certainly, it regulates business owners. Nevertheless, like the producers, some government employees are also driven with their insatiable need. They are easily tempted or blind-sided with grease money that businesses offer them. Definitely, these government employees are aware that something fishy are going on. They know that subcontracting exists in the periphery, but they just don’t take these informal networks seriously until the problem is blown right in their faces. The oversight would later be blamed on lack of personnel to go around due to downsizing or whatever.

Consumers have to take the brunt of this ailing economy, too. Except for those who are buying goods and services for a dire need, many are taking the bait from the producers to satisfy their needs even beyond their purchasing power. They know they cannot afford a bigger house or whatnot, but they take the bait, anyway, so as to keep up with the Joneses. At the end of the day, it is the poorest of the poor and the honest consumers, who are victimized with unscrupulous business transactions between the producers and the government, and between the producers and the irresponsible consumers.

What now?

We need our government to be stricter with their governance. We need the government, who looks at the welfare of the ordinary and honest citizen day in and day out, and not when a crisis is already present. We need a government who strictly regulates the salary cap of business executives. We need the government, who are strict in overseeing their executives, as well as the ranks-and-files. We need producers or business corporations, who are fair and honest in producing their goods and services. Lastly, we need for the consumer to live within their means and for the poorest of the poor to be extra careful in consuming the goods and services offered by the market.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

GOOD WORK, GOV. PALIN

Can you believe it? There were more viewers of the US Vice Presidential Debate at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri last Thursday than the Presidential Debate on September 26th. In fact, it was the second largest national debate, gaining 69.989 million viewers, next to the Presidential debate between Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan on Oct. 28, 1980 (Baltimore Sun, Oct. 4).

Definitely, Republican Vice Presidential Candidate, Ms. Palin, was the drawing force. Not only that she represented the women, she also was considered as the "real outsider" of Washington DC. She drew those people, who either mocked or disappointed on her interview with Katie Couric of Fox News days before the debate (see "Washington Wire", Wall Street Journal, Oct.3). People wanted to see if she could redeem herself. People wanted to know if she would be more of a vice "presidentiable" Ms. Palin, who knows more Supreme Court cases other than the Roe v. Wade, the 1973 ruling to legalize abortion.

Alaska Gov. Palin did a wonderful job. And, like many voting and non-voting residents in the USofA, I was happy with the debate's result. I would not go into who wins the debate, because many who do that are bias, anyways.

Nevertheless, the day before the debate, I submitted the article, "An Unsolicited Advice to Vice Pres. candidate, Ms. Palin" to Triond.com. It was published on the NewsFlavor.com (see http://www.newsflavor.com/politics/US-politics/An-Unsolicited-Advice...28235) I saw all those unsolicited advice done, except the very pageantry(ish)winking and colloquial expressions, which I considered not to be done by a Stateswoman. Winking is alright when one is flirting with or winning the votes of pageant judges and to acquaintances (including those informal verbal expressions), but never to impersonal and undecided voters.

Overall performance of Gov. Sarah Palin was very satisfactory. She has proven to the viewers that she is more than just a "hockey mom", a former mayor of a small Alaska town,and a governor of the 49th state of USA.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

ON PLAGIARISM: Politics and Authorship

Owen Lippert, a speech-writer for Canadian Prime Minister, has resigned after he was accused of plagiarism in a speech he made in 2003. Now, Mr. Lippert has not only lost his job; he also hurt his credibility. He also has hurt the credibility of Prime Minister Stephen Harper (BBC Online News, Oct. 1, 2008).

Plagiarism is a willful used of somebody else's literary work and producing it as one's original work. Even though, many students could have been practicing plagiarism when writing their term papers, there have been overzealous professional writers, who also have been stealing somebody's work.

Here are some authors and politician listed in Wikipedia, Free Online Encyclopedia.

Barack Obama's Vice Presidential candidate, Sen. Joe Biden, was forced out of the Presidential race in 1988 after it was discovered that parts of his speeches were copied from the speeches of British Labour Party leaders, Robert Kennedy and Neil Kinnock.

Helen Keller, the famous American author of The Miracle Worker" who became deaf and blind when she was 19-month old due to an acute illness, was accused of plagiarism in 1892. It was alleged that she copied part of Margaret T. Canby's story The Frost Fairies for her short story "The Frost Kings". Fortunately, she was acquitted by a single vote.

In 2006, Kaavya Viswanathan, a Harvard University student and budding author of How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life, was also accused of plagiarism for copying passages from at least five novels. She started working on her novel when she was just a high school student in New Jersey. Then, while at Harvard, she completed her novel, got a book deal with Little, Brown and Co. and a film deal with Dreamworks SKG, and received $500,000. royalty advance fee. Consequently, the books were withdrawn before they were officially sold in bookstores, the deal rescinded, the film was canceled, and her name completely tarnished.

Plagiarism is not a grievous offense as copyright infringement when it comes to legal action; however, it is as grievous as the latter when it comes to one's name and personal ambition. Therefore, students, politicians, and budding authors must take precaution when working on their manuscripts.

The Owl At Purdue (Sep. 30, 2008), an online writing help published by Purdue University listed some ways to avoid plagiarism.

1. Give proper citation when copying (and pasting) somebody's work to your manuscript.
2. If you got an idea from what you have read, do not copy it as is. Rather, use that idea to write a topic related to it, but make it something new and original.
3. Before writing the manuscript, interview experts and authorities on the topic. Then, should you decide to quote them, give them the credit; however, don't just stop there. You have to express your thoughts if you are for or against their thoughts.
4. It is also important that you have to learn how to use your own words and your own style of expressing your thoughts.

When I am reading something and happen to see something that makes me say "AHA!", I usually copy it down, including the title of the book, the publisher, the date of the publication, and the page where I found that sentence or paragraph. These would help me with my citation later, if ever I would use it somewhere in my own manuscript. Nevertheless, I don't stop there. I always try to probe the author's point, trying to rationalize it based on what I believe in. Then, underneath that quotation, I write a highlighted word, MINE!, to express my thoughts on the idea and possibly an original idea that has sprung in my mind.

Please write and copy safe.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

POLLS, FOCUS GROUP, and MY SCORE CARD: US First Presidential Debate

Polls and focus group are two different research methods of getting public opinions. Most polls are taken through telephone or online, while focus group are based on a small discussion group on a series of topics introduced by a discussion leader, which of course is a voter himself. Results in both polls and focus groups has the tendency to be biased based on how participants are selected. Basically, it should be randomized; however, if the selection doesn't consider the political leanings of the participants, results of both methods would be prejudicial against another. That is how I see why all the results of the polls and focus groups on last night's US Presidential Debate favored the score to Sen. Obama, while many expert political critics saw the debate differently. (see BBC Online News, "McCain and Obama Spar in First Debate", Sept. 17.) We also must remember that most TV networks have openly shelled out their money to the Obama campaign. Such overwhelming financial support to Obama by these TV networks could have contributed to the skewed results on the polls and focus groups.

Now, allow me to give my unsolicited criticism.

1) Economic & Financial Rescue - Although both Republican candidate John McCain and Democratic candidate Barack Obama positively addressed this issues on strict regulations and accountability, McCain has specifically satisfied me on how he would carry out his plans, particularly on Business Tax Cut. He got in-depth reasoning, contrasting Ireland's 11% business tax rate against US 35%. I see his point loud and clear. In economics, when investors are hit with a high tax rate, they'd bring their busines elsewhere to make more profit. That is why many US investors are bringing their businesses overseas were the business tax rate, the wage rate, and the raw materials are low, putting the US workers out of jobs. Obama, on the other hand, addressed it so specifics from US infrastructure, to energy, from education to health. However, he did not really hit the target well.

2) Change and Reform - I mentioned in my previous blog that Obama, being an innovator, has been vocally preaching a radical change in the US politics and economy. However, I haven't seen that from last night's debate. Despite his strong allegation that McCain would just be adopting the current president's agenda, he did not really prove any revolutionary changes,henceforth, saw his possible changes still not so different from the status quo. Remember what anthropologist Ruth Benedict wrote in her book, Patterns of Culture (1934,1959:24), which I quoted in my past blog? "...From the point of view of an outsider the most radical innovations in any culture amount to no more than a minor revision, and it is a commonplace that prophets have been put death for the difference between Tweedledum and Tweedledee."

3) Tactic and Strategy - I don't question Sen Obama's linguistics acumen. Of course, he knows the difference between tactic and strategy. Nevertheless, when talking about international relations and conflict, he did not address them well enough to show his ability in dealing with the issues. Sen. McCain's response was so deep, even mentioning the Battle of Normandy (and explained and connected it very well to today's problems). Very well done!

I just hope that McCain would not listen to the poll and focus groups results. Rather, McCain has to take it as a challenge to give better his already very good performance in yesterday's debate. I don't want to see the repeat of the presidential elections of 1980, where Carter conceded early to Ronald Reagan, when some people in the West Coast were still at work and had not have a chance to vote. Carter's early concession was affected by the Nov. 4 survey by a major TV networks who showed that Reagan was ahead of him in a landslide vote and projected Reagan's win.

And for Sen. Obama? I would like to hear him in the next debate to be more in-depth to effectively prove his platform.

This 2008 presidential election is a close fight, my friends. Let us tighten our seat belts. Let's watch the final result in November.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

ON PUBLISHING #2: Copyright & Other Rights

My book contract for my manuscript, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses, was sent through UPS the other day. I went through the 7 pages thoroughly before I signed them. Then, with too much excitement, I shared the news with my online friends. Many congratulated me, from Namibia to the Philippines. Any friend from Down-Under? Hello, do I still have friends down there? (LOL) Some already told me that they are going to get their copies. (G.C., a history teacher-friend in Italy promised to get his copy even before I pitched the work to the publisher). Some told me that they'd mention the upcoming book to their friends. To all of you, thank you.

Anyway, B.K., a friend in U.K. asked me yesterday what I mean by exclusive right. She feels that it is unfair for the publisher to have total right to somebody else's work. One proviso of the book contract is a 7-year exclusive right to the publisher. So allow me to write something about copyright and rights.


A writer publishes his/her work, may it be a book or article, for the consumption of the public. While the work is in circulation, there is a tendency that somebody can plagiarize it(i.e. copy or publish it in his/her name). Copyright protects the writer for such suckers.

Technically, copyright is secured automatically when the work is set down for the first time in written form.(How to Write & Sell Your Life Experiences: 1993.148). The writer doesn't have to register it to a copyright office. However, by registering your copyright, you can bring suit against someone for infringing your copyright. In the USofA registering a copyright will allow the writer to recover attorney's fees and some damages from the defendant. (The Writer's Essential Desk Reference: 1991.38).

Further, there are other rights that a writer has to consider once his/her work is being negotiated for publication. These are what we call "All or exclusive right", First Right, Secondary Right, One-Time Right, and Subsidiary Right.

The signed contract to my manuscript, "PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses", has a proviso for a 7-year exclusive contract. This means that the publisher have the ownership of my manuscript. I have to wait until the 7-year "all right" expires before I can sell or reproduce the manuscript again to another publisher. Again, one advantage to an "All Right" is that the writer does not have to spend (except time to proof-read galleys, etc.) any money from printing to marketing. Transaction of "All Rights" must be completed with a signing of written statement (contract). Without a written contract, the author only gives "One-Time Right" to the publisher, which is much like "First Right".

Wonder why you see some articles appear in several magazines? The reason is that the author has the First Right to his/her work. First Right means that the writer has the freedom to sell reprint or "second" right the work to another publisher, even before the work is published. Turning in or publishing the writer's article to a magazine publisher usually have this arrangement. It doesn't need any signed contract. The publisher notifies the writer and the readers by including the statement in all copies of the magazine.

Subsidiary Right usually is included as another proviso in a written contract. And, according to a Denver lawyer, David Weinstein, (Writer's Essential: 34) this is one of the most common book contract problems. An author has to pay attention to such proviso. Subsidiary right means the publisher has been given the right to make transaction for other income-generating businesses with another company with the intent to produce the work in another medium, such as movie, audio, etc. Some unscrupulous publisher would not spell this out in the contract. I am just thankful that the contract that I have with Comfort Publishing (CP) has a proviso that assures me that should a compensation received by CP for publication of extraction or for serial use, audio recordings,etc., it would be divided equally between the author and the publisher.

Again, thank you very much. I am counting for your all-out support in this literary odyssey.


NOTE: My book, KOILAWAN (KOI-lah-ONE), is still available in 21 countries. Also, watch for my other book, THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS:An Anthology.