S1L48 – “Social Activism” introducing Miss Laarnee Iwasan
Things didn’t go so bad the last time I used my new ‘policy’ of calling students for recitation LAST NAME first. So I think I’ll stick to that policy.
“Is Mister or Miss Iwasan around?” I read from a half-covered classcard. I have a very strong feeling that it would be a guy, maybe a boxer or some other martial arts expert you’d want to keep an arm’s length away from. The name “Iwasan” sounded like a warning.
“Good evening, sir. My name is Laarnee.” It was a girl. Again.
“You’ve got a couple extra vowels too many in your name, Miss Laarnee,” I observed when I read her classcard, “if you would just drop the extra ‘a’ and ‘e’ you’d have a really educational word for a name.”
“Learn,” she said. She catches on fast, “and if I just dropped the extra ‘a’ I’d even be digitally up to date sir—eLearn.”
I glanced at the classcard again. “What does the middle initial ‘S’ stand for, Miss Laarnee?”
“Siputan, sir. I’m Ilocano on my mother’s side.”
“Your middle name is ‘Siputan’ and your last name is ‘Iwasan’—are you anti-social, Miss Laarnee?” I chided her.
“No, sir, I’m a social activist.” She replied dead seriously. And she said ‘social activist’ so casually, I thought I should investigate deeper. I’ve never really been up close to a real-life social activist. I just read all their columns in the newspapers.
“Really? What IS a social activist, Miss Laarnee? What does she do?”
“Nothing, sir.” She answered cryptically.
“Nothing? Zero? Zilch? Nada?” I asked again and braced for a really profound answer. She didn’t disappoint.
“A social activist is a catalyst, sir. A catalyst is something that causes a chemical reaction without itself becoming affected. So everybody is a social activist because we all cause all kinds of social reactions around us. But at the end of the day, we basically stay the same as who we are. So a social activist does nothing other than be a member of society, just like you and everybody else. Some people just want to think of social activists in terms of all kinds of wrong stereotypes, sir, when it’s so basic to just think of them as human beings responding to the same social stimuli as you do.”
I wish somebody would explain to me why in five years of studying in the University of the Philippines, the hotbed of social activism, nobody ever gave me as clear a definition of ‘social activist’ as Miss Laarnee just did.
Even the class was mesmerized. They started looking around and pointing at one another, “aktibista ka pala!” and “ikaw din!” and pockets of small talk sparked around the classroom. When there’s a spontaneous outbreak of reaction like that during lecture, I let it percolate for a few moments, before lightly banging the blackboard to call the class back to order.
“We appreciate that snap lesson, Miss Laarnee, most of us never really thought of ourselves as militants until now,” I said. “but while we’re on the subject of social dynamics, can you please read to us your favorite constitutional provision that treats of that subject. Now there are several, so I want you to choose the most relevant to our local society right now.”
Miss Laarnee rifled through the pages of her codal. It looked to me like she was skipping a lot of pages. She wasn’t choosing randomly, she was locating a particular provision she already had in mind.
“Ah, here it is, sir. It’s Article XII, Section 6, it’s rather long sir…”
“Be my guest,” I greenlighted her.
“Okay. ‘The use of property bears a social function, and all economic agents shall contribute to the common good. Individuals and private groups, including corporations, cooperatives, and similar collective organizations, shall have the right to own, establish, and operate economic enterprises, subject to the duty of the State to promote distributive justice and to intervene when the common good so demands.” Miss Laarnee read, and then looked up to me when she finished.
The girl was lightly panting because she really forced herself to read the entire thing in one breath. It looked almost like she was afraid somebody might stop her from being able to complete delivering the provision.
“Take a deep breath, Miss Laarnee,” I said, “then tell us why you think that provision is the most relevant right now to our local society.”
“Sir, I’m reflecting it off my personal experience,” Miss Laarnee said, speaking like there was a lump in her throat, or something, as she continued, “I work for a company that is fighting for its life right now, sir, just because the State that promised to guarantee me these things is doing almost nothing to fulfill that promise.”
“I think the phrase ‘promised to guarantee’ sounds like a contradiction in terms, sir.” Miss Deema interjected without startling me anymore—it’s like I’ve grown used to it.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I admitted, “well, let’s ask Miss Laarnee here what she meant.”
“I meant, the Constitution itself says that property must serve the needs of society, more than the goals of enterprise, and that if one is tending to overwhelm the other the State must come in to redistribute property because that’s the essence of social justice.” Miss Laarnee explained.
“What kind of company do you work for, Miss Laarnee?”
“It’s an electric cooperative, sir, and it’s so successful it has attracted the attention of a big private company that wants to have it.”
“Oh, I see,” I reminded myself this is a ‘social activist’ standing in front of me. Is she trying to cause me to react? I am an academic. I am an Intellectual. I cannot be influenced by any provocation, and I am an unemotional person. So even if I’m talking to a ‘social catalyst’ fat chance that it should make any difference to me. I am determined that I would be UNAFFECTED.
“See here, Miss Laarnee, ours is a free enterprise system The freedom to transact commercially is the cornerstone of our capitalist society. That’s what democracy is all about. If somebody wants to buy your company, so long as it pays its freemarket value, it’s a fair deal. Everybody will emerge out of the deal okay, even you. You have to learn to trust the system.”
“I didn’t say they wanted to BUY our company, sir. I said they just wanted to HAVE it.” Miss Laarnee said.
“What do you mean they just want to ‘have’ it? You mean HAVE IT for FREE??” I asked.
“Well, not exactly free sir. They’re going to use the government’s money for the silent acquisition. Right now they are throwing all kinds of stumbling blocks on our operation so that we would fail. They’re running us to the ground until we’re totally bankrupt. And when we become insolvent, they’ll come in to bail us out, looking like heroes. The government will provide the money, looking like a responsible proactive government instead of a state pimp. Meanwhile, the public will celebrate the whole takeover like it was the victory celebrations after World War 2, sir.”
“Why would the government do that if your company is a consumer cooperative, like you said? Wouldn’t the government rather make sure that there be more people involved in the ownership of property?” I asked
“That’s precisely what the Constitution says, sir. But the government agency regulating our company is helping this private group infiltrate our management, helping them interfere with our banking—”
I interrupted.
“No, no, no, Miss Laarnee, the provision that you read says that government must intervene when the common good so demands,” and Miss Laarnee picked up from where I left.
“Because of the government’s duty to promote distributive justice.”
“That’s right,” I said. We were alternating reciting the law you could hardly tell anymore who was reciting, she or me.
Laarnee spoke again “That’s why I said the State was failing to deliver the Constitution’s guarantee, sir, that because ownership of property bears a social function, it should be a higher priority of the government to distribute ownership among many, not concentrate it on the hands of a few “
“Yeah, but you’re not even talking of a FEW, Miss Laarnee, you were just talking of ONE big private corporation that wants to acquire your company?!” I clarified.
“Yes, sir, and not even using its own money but using the money of the government, in the guise of rehabilitating a public cooperative but in reality just making sure the private corporation would be acquiring a well-oiled machine right from day one of its takeover, sir.”
“But that’s deceptive!” I said, “and what ‘money of the government’ are you talking about? The government has no money! The government has no job! I have a job! I am the one who is working here! I pay income tax! That money comes from me and millions of hardworking Filipinos like me who pay taxes! What gives the government the right to give that money to a big private corporation to spend like it’s their money??!”
“Calm down, sir, just chill,” Deema came up to the lectern to offer a newly-opened bottle of mineral water, “you’re letting yourself get affected, sir.”
“I DON’T CARE!!!” I yelled and banged hard on the blackboard at the same time, “WHO DO THESE PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE?? COMING HERE TO BAGUIO AND ACTING LIKE THEY CAN JUST OWN ANYTHING THEY POINT AT!! WHAT DO THEY THINK OF US? IDIOTS LIKE THEM??!”
“Sir, please, you have a heart condition,” Deema pleaded as others came forward too.
“I’M SICK AND TIRED OF ENTITLED RICH PEOPLE WITH NO MONEY OF THEIR OWN, TAKING THE MONEY OF THE PEOPLE TO BUY FOR THEMSELVES THINGS THAT BELONG TO THE PEOPLE, AND THEN EXPECTING THE PEOPLE TO BE GRATEFUL TO THEM FOR SCREWING THEM OVER! I WANNA KILL THESE SANAMAGANS! AND THOSE GOVERNMENT REGULATORS! THOSE CORRUPT BASTARDS! WHERE ARE THEY? WHERE ARE THEY? GO GET THOSE SANAVABITCHES!!”
Everybody was up on their feet now, watching their professor have a complete meltdown. They milled around me, breaking up into talk groups again, reviewing everything Laarnee and I have just talked about.
“We get your point, sir! Promise we do!” Jack from Bauko rubbed my shoulders and back, “tomorrow we’re going to march and protest the planned takeover sir. Deema will work out our rally permit. Deema where are you??”
“I’m down here! I’m holding the professor’s feet, does anybody have ziptie?”
About the Author
The author is a writer and lawyer based in Baguio City, Philippines. Former editor of the Gold Ore and Baguio City Digest, professor of journalism, political science and law at Baguio Colleges Foundation (BCF). He is a photographer and video documentarist. He has a YouTube channel called “Parables and Reason”
About Images: Some of the images used in the articles are from the posts in Atty. Joel Rodriguez Dizon’s Facebook account, and/or Facebook groups and pages he manages or/and member of.