October 08, 2024
BENECO Election Postponement
City High Years
National Geographic
MCO Regrets
Why Titanic Mania Lives
Willy’s Jeep
Titan
Titan Minisub
Hope Never Surrenders
One Question, One Member, One Vote
Slowly and Steadily
“Alice in Wonderland”
Magalong and MSL
Writing in the Dark
BENECO District Elections 2023
Vindication
The Rise and Fall of ECMCO United
“MSL is my GM”
General Membership
No Substitute for Elections
Evidentiary “MCO SELFIE”
Empowering the BENECO MCO
NEA’s Conceptual Hook
The BENECO Surrender 2
Legal Post Classifications
BENECO Controversy Topics
The BENECO Surrender
A photograph speaks a million words
Conversion and Privatization
Explore Baguio with a Bike
Failure of AI
Preserving CJH
Skating Rink
NEA’s Hiring Process
BgCur
Camp John Hay Nostalgia
Camp John Hay Mile High Memories
NEA’s Mandate
Camp John Hay TV
NEA and BENECO Should Come Clean
John Hay’s Top Soil
Big Screens at John Hay
The Browning of Camp John Hay
Putin
The Beginning of the Age of Brainwashing
Baguio shouldn’t build skyscrapers
The MURDER of pine trees goes unabated
We were “toy soldiers” in 1979
S1E70
S1E69
attyjoeldizon@gmail.com
Baguio City, Philippines

S1L57 ; Public office is a public trust, fake diplomas don’t count

Good evening, class…”

“Good evening, sir!” my Alpha Section class seemed totally refreshed by the long Christmas break, they looked ready to recite.

I, on the other hand, was ready to launch 2022 by centering their attention on what I feel would be the defining event of the year: the general elections.

“As you all know, 2022 is an election year,” I started to fire up their imagination, “the only time, really, when all Filipinos aged 18 and above can directly participate in government is during an election. After we elect our officials, these officials basically do everything for us the rest of their term, for good or for bad. So I want you to imagine an election as like firing a gun. You aim the gun and squeeze the trigger. The moment you have squeezed the trigger, that’s it. You just did the last thing you can do to ever have any effect on where the bullet hits. If you aimed right, you hit bullseye. If you aimed wrong, there’s no way to correct the bullet’s flight when it has left the gun.”

Deema raised her hand, waving it wildly in the air.

“Why, this is a first, Miss Deema,” I said, “normally you just recite even when I don’t call you. Now even BEFORE I DON’T call you, you’re raring to go,” it sends the class to its first collective chuckle for the year.

“I was just caught by what you just said, sir, it’s so apropos in this election campaign where every candidate is promising the moon and the stars to the people just to win their votes. But I think we should not vote for candidates based on what they promise. A promise, by definition, is always ideal. But the moment we elect somebody wrong who obviously cannot deliver the promise, there is no chance for any mid-course correction.” Deema said.

“Then I say we should vote based on what they promise,” Jack Makataruz interrupted.

Oh no, the ‘Deema virus’ is spreading, I thought. Now I have TWO students who just babble on without being called. Jack, who rides to school on a motorcycle, continued.

“I think taking note of what they promise is the best way to approximate their chances of succeeding. It’s like making the decision what motorcycle to buy,” Jack said.

“That’s a very interesting analogy to propose, Jack, even though I’m not sure I get what you mean. Although I know you ride a motorcycle,” I said, trying to draw him into explaining further.

“Oh, but Jack’s motorcycle is really TINY sir, teeny tiny small,” Deema butted in, “that’s why he sports a Mohawk hairstyle to make up for it with cool points!” everybody laugh. Jack rolled his eyes.

OH NO! The virus is REALLY spreading now. Now I have two eyerollers.

“Let’s allow Jack to finish explaining his analogy, shall we? Go ahead Jack—motorcycles and electoral candidates—THIS I wanna hear.” I said.

“My pleasure, sir. I just returned from a family reunion in Kapangan, riding my motorbike. I rode 1,063 kilometers on dirt roads, some poorly paved ones, some in mud. On a long stretch, I rode for 4 hours straight, stopping only to fix a puncture, it was dark by the time I arrived at my destination. I had to deal with uncourteous motorists, they hogged my lane, they don’t dim their lights, they raced me and they obstructed me and their machines are all bigger than mine. I rode through the forest where there were no houses or people for several kilometers, I rode my small, tiny motorbike and I got to where I wanted to go and was able to come back fine. Now, I need a bigger bike.”

The class and I were looking at him the whole time.

“Aaaah..yeeeaaaah…we’re really getting it now,” I said.

“Jack, do you have a point or did you drop it somewhere in the middle of that forest road??” Deema asked impatiently.

“My point is, you can ride any motorcycle, big or small, you never know what bike you need until you try to get someplace you’ve never been.” Jack said, with a look on his face that almost says “don’t you still get it, you dummies?”

“We’re almost there, Jack,” I said.

“You see, sir, before I started the trip, all I knew was everything about my tiny bike,” Jack said.

“Everybody knows about your tiny bike, it’s a model called ‘Hairdryer 125” Deema glossed.

“Shut up, Miss Deema, let Jack finish,” I refereed.

Jack continued, “I didn’t know very much about the road ahead. If I had known I was going to ride the Dakar-to-Paris Rally, I won’t even bother starting my engine. But if the job is just to deliver pizza, my bike is fine. It won’t win any races but it will run forever. Candidates are the same. They all have their given capability, so the only question is how that capability measures up to the job—and the job is defined by the lofty promises they make. If the job was just to take care of few hundred people, then maybe someone with the experience of a barangay captain would do just fine.

Gladys, the older of the Ondafli twins from Sagada, born on Lizardo Bus No 57, raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Gladys Ondafli (pronounced “on-the-fly”), go fly ahead,” I said with a big grin on my face.

“Sir, I think I get Jack’s point. Some of us focus on a candidate’s credentials, some of us focus on the awesome big job of the office they’re running for. Jack is saying we should, instead, focus on matching the credentials with the job.”

“That, certainly sounds rational to me,” I said.

Glad, the other Ondafli twin younger by ten minutes than Gladys, stood up, “I don’t agree, sir.”

“I didn’t see you raise your hand, Miss Glad,” I said.

“I didn’t, sir,” Glad admitted and then changed the tone of her voice to mimic MY voice and then said in sing-song voice, “because you two are twins there’s great commonality between the two of you, so only one of you needs to—”

“Okay, okay, I did say that,” I blurted, “so go ahead, tell us why you disagree with Jack and Gladys here.”

“I’m thinking of one candidate in particular, sir, his credential shows he has a masters degree in business administration and graduate degree in social studies. I think those are the best courses to prepare one for national government administration,” Glad said.

“I agree,” I said, “is there any problem with that?”

“There is, sir. He claims he got his masters degree from Wharton University, and his graduate degree from Oxford University but neither school has any record of him completing any semester there, let alone graduating.”

“Can’t we give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe they just mispelled his name in the school records,” I said.

“Or he mispelled the name of his school, sir, maybe he meant Hogwarts nor Wharton!” Glad smirked. Hogwarts University, of course, is where Harry Potter learned to ride the broomstick.

“There’s no record of him in Hogwarts, either, sir!” Deema blurted out.

“Speaking as an alumnus, Miss Deema?” I said, “but never mind, class. You all make excellent points. Jack and Gladys are correct that the job of, say, the President, requires a certain competence. But Glad is even MORE correct that the competence must be actually POSSESSED by the candidate, and not just self-claimed. But you’re all missing a very basic point. Whether he finished in Wharton University or karton university doesn’t really make any difference. Where in the constitution does it even say the president has to be a college graduate?” I said.

“Nowhere, sir,” Deema answered, “just like we aspire to make ours ‘a government of laws and not of men’ but that phrase is not found in the Constitution, either.”

Then Jack added, “we also like to say that our democracy aims to make ours a government ‘of the People, by the People and for the People’ but that’s not found in the Constitution, either sir!”

Then Kata added, “Let’s not forget we also say that ‘the voice of the People is the voice of God’—well, that’s not found in the Constitution, either, sir!”

“Alright, alright, lots of things are evidently NOT found in our Constitution Can somebody quote me something that IS found in the Constitution that talks about the qualifications required of a president that makes it relevant whether he really graduated from college or not?”

“That would be Article XI, Section 1, sir,” Deema declared and then recited straight from memory, “Public office is a public trust. Public officers and employees must, at all times, be accountable to the people, serve them with utmost responsibility, integrity, loyalty, and efficiency; act with patriotism and justice, and lead modest lives.”

“If a presidential candidate lies about his educational attainment, sir, how can we ever TRUST him about anything else?” Deema continued, “and like you said, educational attainment is not even a big deal as far as the Constitution is concerned. So if a guy can’t even be truthful about something so trivial, how can we expect him to be truthful to the people about something as huge, and heavy and consequential as the national destiny?”

I have to admit, these young idealistic law juniors drive a hard and strong argument. “So is it safe to assume from all that you said that you people are not voting for Mister Fake Diploma?” I asked.

“Only if we’re filling up a fake ballot, sir!” they all chorused.

“Then I rest HIS case, class dismissed!” I said, then banged the black—“Hey! WHO painted this blackboard ledge PINK?? Miss Deema!!!”

The girl was gone before I could grab her.


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.


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