Wednesday 28 August 2019

A Friendship That Opened Doors to Journalism




Volume 1, Issue No. 7
OPINION/COMMENTARY
/ News That Fears None, Views That Favor Nobody /

. . . . . A community service of The Filipino Web Channel (TheFilipinoWebChannel@gmail. com) and the Philippine Village Voice (PhilVoiceNews@gmail.com) for the information and understanding of Filipinos and the diverse communities in North America . . . . . .

Our latest as of Wednesday, August 28, 2019 

 The dutiful son that I'm supposed to be almost neglected to remember his father's 100th year. At the end of the month, he would have been 101 years old, having been born on August 31, 1918, in Cavite province, Philippines. When he passed away in California in 2014 at age 96, I could not come to his funeral. To this day, I am haunted by that thought. When I woke up this rainy Tuesday morning (Aug. 27), I knew something was amiss. Memories of him continued to flood my mind. Then I realize his birthday was coming up. 


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REMEMBERING MY FATHER WHO WOULD'VE BEEN 101 YEARS OLD

A Cochero and a Fisherman Who Made Good


By ROMEO P. MARQUEZ 
Editor, The Filipino Web Channel



“The strength of a man is in his character. A strong man is great man of wisdom who understands, his top priority is to his family.” ― Ellen J. Barrier


TORONTO - He earned a living working two jobs - as a cochero by day and a fisherman by night. 

That man was my father, Rufino Márquez, a hardy five-footer whose day job was to convey people through his kalesa to the length and breadth of Bancaan, a fishing village on the southwest shores of Manila Bay in the town of Naic, Cavite which happens to be my birthplace.

At dusk, he would rest for a few hours, and later joined a group of fishermen, usually six of them, for a night of pamamalakaya (trawling for fish) in the open sea bordering Batangas and Bataan. Fishing would bring in a large sum especially if the catch was good.

This early exposure had enabled me to identify the different varieties of fish and other sea products and determined what's good for paksiw, pesa, sinigang, inihaw, pinangat, sinaing, etc. But the family preference had always been tuna, the bluefin and yellowfin varieties, and shrimp, mackerel, squid, and grouper. 

Bancaan was about three kilometres from the township but travel had been difficult before the authorities carved a dirt road out of an expansive rice field. Still, the easy, smooth, and meandering route was by banca, a rowboat essentially, through a maze of crystal-clear creeks practically hidden from view by palm and nipa trees along their banks.

Visiting my paternal grandparents at a young age was a cherished experience if only for the banca ride to and from the ancestral home, which was situated on the shores of Manila Bay. In recent years, the shoreline has actually expanded by several meters, creating a wide strip of land, now settled by squatters, and pushing my paternal grandparents' property inland.

Not until I had the pleasure of going to Venice in 2011 did I realize that the old-fashioned journey of yesteryears was exactly what Venice has become famous for, except that instead of a fanciful gondola, we had a banca for transport, and an oarsman who drove it instead of a gondolier who sings on the side. (Videos at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSvJunIZ2yU and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0_3U5XFA64).

I learned to swim there as a child. I had wanted to join my father's fishermen friends to venture out onto historic Corregidor, about 25 kilometres across the bay from Bancaan. Though the island, also called "Gibraltar of the East," is closer to Bataan, it is in fact part of Cavite province. (Background: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corregidor).

As fishing, my father's night job, was totally dependent on the weather, it lacked the stability to support his family. After months of looking, he found employment with The Manila Chronicle in Intramuros, Manila, first as a helper, then as a pressman, or operator of huge printing machines churning out the broadsheet.

By then the family had moved to Pasay City near where Buendia Avenue and Roxas Boulevard intersect. My siblings and I were growing up. Whenever we visited Bancaan, the entire neighborhood, which is to say the Marquez clan, would turn out to welcome us. 

"Aba, naglalakihan na ang mga batang ire," the people would say in their characteristic Caviteno accent, to mean "Gosh, these kids are all growing fast".

My mother hailed from another barrio, Balsahan, located at the edge of the river, which must have taken its name from balsa or wooden raft, that was the chief means of transportation at that time.

Every time we would come, it surely would necessitate paying a call on her mother, Ceferina Sevillano, my grandmother, the beautiful but feisty Spanish mestiza, and an entire community of maternal cousins. 

Blinded by cataract on both eyes, I was her handpicked organ of sight, a personal support worker (PSW) in current lingo. From her, I learned how to swear in Spanish as she was given to outbursts of sinverguenza, the Spanish for shameless, and hijo de perra or son of a bitch, whenever she threw a tantrum at not finding her chewing tobacco at the very moment she wanted it.

My father was always a proud host to friends from childhood and neighbours. He knew he would be teased for landing a stable job as a machinist in the printing department of The Manila Chronicle in Aduana, Intramuros, Manila - the reason we left for the city. 

So before the ribbing could start, he would give his younger brother money to buy the beer and coconut spirits his friends were so fond of. Pulutan (hors d'oeuvre or appetizer) came in abundance, mostly the day's catch of yellowfin tuna, lobster, mussels and oysters. The boisterous reunion usually ended before a rooster's crow announcing a new day.

The degree to which he spent during those occasional visits was the exception to his personal principle to live within one's means, after all, these people were his boyhood chums who had remained rooted to the only method of livelihood they knew - fishing and farming.

My mother who took care of us in the homefront after retiring as a dressmaker, never objected though sometimes she would get annoyed by the noise and the endless macho talk.

As a pressman, my father got to be friends with some editors at the Chronicle. It was during a meal one evening at a karinderia that Jorge Afable, the metro news editor, taunted him about one of his sons - that's me - who was studying journalism. 

"Subukan natin yung anak mo Márquez," he baited, to which my father promptly replied: "Oo sige, papuntahin ko sa 'yo at ng ma-examine mo".

Two days later I had an appointment. My father happily told me at home that an editor wanted to see if I could qualify as a reporter for his section. 

On the day it was set, I went up to the editorial department looking for Mr. Afable. He was closing his page. I interrupted him and introduced myself, then he handed me a slip of paper on which was written the facts of what would be my story. 

It was my first time to be in a newsroom. Unlike other offices, the Chronicle's was like a beehive. People were talking over their shoulders while typing out their stories. The teleprinters were disgorging wire stories. The TV was on. Everyone was rushing back and forth to beat the deadline.

Mr. Afable gave me half an hour to write a decent article out of the factsheet he had handed to me. I was quite nervous that I might not be able to deliver on time. But after reading the factsheet, I knew it was an easy story to write. No analysis, just the bare facts to be weaved into a coherent, clear story.

To my own surprise, I finished writing in 15 minutes, half the generous time he had given. I handed the two-page typewritten manuscript to him and he simply nodded. "Mabilis ka ah," he uttered, checked the story for mistakes and called out the copy boy to send it to production for typesetting.

I passed the exam, he said, and secretly, I was ecstatic hearing that. Whereupon, he assigned me to cover three areas in metro Manila, namely, Pasay City, Paranaque and Las Pinas. Anything that happened there would be my responsibility, he said. And that included the police, the local governments and their components.

The weeks that followed were devoted to introducing myself to the authorities as the reporter for the Chronicle. 

In Pasay, it was Mayor Pablo Cuneta who I met with his secretary, the mother of singer-actress Sharon Cuneta; in Paranaque, Mayor Florencio Bernabe; and in Las Pinas, Mayor Filemon Aguilar whose daughter is the recently-reelected Senator Cynthia Villar. The police chief of Pasay was Col. Tumaliuan whose first name I cannot recall now.

I had my professional break in journalism through my father whose friendship had opened doors for me.

Rufino Márquez would have been 101 years old on Saturday, August 31. He passed away in 2014 at age 96. Ten years prior, my mother Virginia succumbed at age 87. They are buried side by side in San Diego, California. (Copyright 2019. All Rights Reserved).

Friday 23 August 2019

Eddie Lee, the Non-Journalist Publishing Pioneer




Volume 1, Issue No. 6
OPINION/COMMENTARY
/ News That Fears None, Views That Favor Nobody /

. . . . . A community service of The Filipino Web Channel (TheFilipinoWebChannel@gmail. com) and the Philippine Village Voice (PhilVoiceNews@gmail.com) for the information and understanding of Filipinos and the diverse communities in North America . . . . . .

Our latest as of Friday, August 23, 2019 

 If there's one metric for the impact an individual gets to have in his community, it would be Eddie Lee and his work through his newspaper Atin Ito. The 84-year-old passed away quietly on Sunday, August 18, 2019, leaving a legacy of serving the Filipino community for 43 years. A fraternity brother to many notable people in the Philippine government, he literally walked the corridors of power but never took advantage of it. Till the end, he stuck to the job he never dreamed of - newspapering - so he could advocate for his people.


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EDDIE LEE, PUBLISHER OF ATIN ITO NEWSPAPER:

Resolute in Serving the Filipino Community


By ROMEO P. MARQUEZ 
Editor, The Filipino Web Channel


“Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.” – Alphonse de Lamartine


TORONTO - Even as he was an active role player in the local newspaper industry, Eddie Lee never pretended nor called himself a journalist out of respect for those who truly are.

He had firmly refused to do so, but because of his devotion to community journalism up to his dying day on Sunday, August 18, 2019, he might as well had been one champion of what true journalism was.

He had abided by an understated principle of not showing off some influence and power he could have wielded as the founder and publisher of Atin Ito, the oldest, at 43 years, Filipino newspaper in Canada and widely distributed in the Greater Toronto Area.

Eddie Lee's humility defined his limits as a person, as a businessman, and as a newspaperman - this last one not as a reporter writing the news but as the person who made sure the paper kept going in good or foul weather.

And that modesty applied as well to Atin Ito, the tabloid he had nurtured since 1976, the year a group of friends, including journalist Ruben Cusipag (July 12, 1938 - July 9, 2013), came together and began a journey to create awareness in the Filipino community.

The name of the paper he had chosen to carry was non-conventional, in fact, radical in so many ways that describe the man himself and his venture into a world traditionally reserved for lovers of the written word. 

His was public service through a platform called Atin Ito, the Tagalog phrase that literally translates to "this is ours" - quite a bold affirmation in those times of Filipino identity in multi-ethnic, multi-cultural Canada where being Filipino meant very little to mainstream society.

As publisher, Eddie Lee, age 84 at the time of his passing, had his share of controversy, which was foreseeable anyway for one heavily involved in community affairs as he had been. 

From what I could appreciate now, or nearly a decade later after I moved here from California, some sectors had mounted a word war against him over an article in his Atin Ito newspaper supporting lawyer Frank Luna, the then labour attache based here in Toronto.

The article touched off a raw nerve in the overly-sensitive press club - then and now inhabited by deadbeats - for it was something nobody dared to articulate in print. Once published, it sparked an uproar, then a squabble, then a big national controversy impacting one of the Philippines' biggest resources - the caregivers.

The good thing about that controversy was that it resulted in meaningful changes in the systemic processing and hiring of caregivers - a big boost to the caregiving community. Eddie Lee's Atin Ito was probably not much of an influencer but he did shake the establishment!

As I read the historic rebuttal now, it would have the effect of negating my considered assertion that Eddie Lee was not a power broker, nor a power wielder, which his critics said he was, though he had held considerable strength to brandish it if he had chosen to. 

He knew whereof he spoke, especially as an honest businessman who happened to have personal connections with people in the corridors of power, most of them his fraternity brothers in Upsilon Sigma Phi, the oldest student male-exclusive organization in the University of the Philippines.

Among the notable alumni of Upsilon Sigma Phi are President Ferdinand Marcos, President Jose P. Laurel, Vice President Salvador Laurel, Senator Joker Arroyo - all deceased - and incumbent Senator Richard Gordon. Toronto has a number of alumni too.

Eddie Lee graduated from UP Los Banos, his widow Marita Lee said, with a degree in agriculture. His formal education was an unlikely background for somebody who had engaged in a stressful, less-rewarding job as publisher, editor, and occasional photographer for Atin Ito newspaper.

But it is to Eddie Lee's credit that Atin Ito newspaper prospered through more than four decades - a considerable feat for one whose bona fides were not in journalism or its allied branches.

"Service was his commitment," according to Marita who helped husband Eddie in producing the paper every month at their home office in the western suburb of Oakville. (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gHgKO9MUkQ).

His dedication was the same spur for Atin Ito's existence. "The paper was Eddie's labor of love," she says. That simple statement is a testament to his deep involvement in the Filipino community.

Eddie Lee himself had restated what everybody in the community already knew during a recognition ceremony in 2016. Noting his paper's four decades of existence, he stressed that "Atin Ito has been there for 40 years. We try to do and help whatever help we can give to the community. We will continue to do the same".

Eddie Lee had wanted to help a friend and fraternity brother, the late Ruben Cusipag, continue his journalism advocacy in Toronto once he had immigrated to Canada in late 1974. The two then co-founded Atin Ito in 1976. Two years later, they split and Ruben founded Balita newspaper.

I first met Eddie Lee during a luncheon meeting for media in 2011, my second year in Toronto, and I found him to be outspoken and courageous to speak out his mind. (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpJoaUnNFqs). We would bump into each other in community events that I also covered for my online blogs and YouTube channels. 

In 2016, Michael Levitt, Member of Parliament for York Centre, recognized Eddie Lee for his "continued work in preserving the value of multiculturalism found in our Charter of Rights and Freedoms". The citation reads: "You and your organization are at the core of what makes Canada great, our diversity". (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXvs_1R6UNQ).

Well-spoken for Eddie Lee, the non-journalist journalist. Well-spoken for Atin Ito. (Copyright 2019. All Rights Reserved).

Thursday 22 August 2019

2019 Taste of Manila: An Ocean of Humanity




Volume 1, Issue No. 5
OPINION/COMMENTARY
/ News That Fears None, Views That Favor Nobody /

. . . . . A community service of The Filipino Web Channel (TheFilipinoWebChannel@gmail. com) and the Philippine Village Voice (PhilVoiceNews@gmail.com) for the information and understanding of Filipinos and the diverse communities in North America . . . . . .

Our latest as of Thursday, August 22, 2019 

 The yelling, singing, dancing, and stomping multitudes are indicators of how immensely successful the 2019 edition of Taste of Manila was. The street festival beggars description. The sea of humanity that descended in Toronto's Little Manila became an ocean of revelers in no time. That's how it was during the weekend of August 17-18 when the 2019 fest, North America's largest Filipino event, took place.

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LITTLE MANILA'S OCEAN OF HUMANITY

2019 Taste of Manila Beggars Description


By ROMEO P. MARQUEZ 
Editor, The Filipino Web Channel


“We reveal to ourselves and others what is important to us by the way we celebrate.” ― Noël Piper


TORONTO - The best available words would suffice to describe this year's Taste of Manila festival - epic, gigantic, monumental, monstrous, elephantine.

Who needs numbers when those adjectives apply to the massive turnout of people on the first and second days of the street fest on its traditional grounds in the Bathurst-Wilson area in North York?

The appointed time on Saturday, August 17, 2019, was 9 a.m. when the program was scheduled to start. I made sure that I will be there, and certainly, I was, five minutes prior. But then nature intervened, pouring out tears of happiness I suppose, in the form of thunderstorms.

The intermittent rains doused the area, giving the length and breadth of Little Manila a fresh, moistening splash to counterbalance the summer heat. I was worried a bit that the streak of rainwater would not stop and cancel out the festival. I was wrong. (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nICEcg3G0us).

The rains are always a good omen, says Deputy Consul General Bernadette Fernandez who took shelter at the office of iRemit with her team from the Philippine Consulate. Even as it's still early, the storefront was full. People were filling up forms to remit money to their loved ones while others simply stayed put to avoid getting wet.

Thirty or forty minutes past the hour, the sky cleared as if giving a naughty smile to the revelers down below waiting, hoping and praying that nature's drenching would cease. The rains did end at that very moment. Then Bathurst Street where the main stage at Wilson Avenue stood, began to fill.

The unease that I felt earlier had vanished. Individuals, then groups of people, then humankind were coming out of establishments that lined the fenced road and walked around waiting for a sign of when the celebration would commence. 

Meanwhile, the hundreds of booths - restos, karinderias Philippine style, hole-in-the-wall stores, and satellite offices - along Bathurst St. prepared to receive their first customers for the day. The usual parade of participants scheduled earlier had been canceled because of the rains, so the main programming would begin soon.

By mid-day and towards the afternoon, the asphalt-paved Bathurst St. was indistinguishable. Waves upon waves were descending from everywhere. The north-south road artery was now a sea of humanity. One could hardly walk without bumping into another person. That's how tight it was. (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AanA5a2V6y4).

I've seen how Taste of Manila morphed from a community-inspired reach out in 2014 with just about 60,000 attendees which, incidentally, defied projections that had placed an estimate of no bigger than 5,000, to a colossal 350,000 people in 2018 when Taste of Manila almost did not happen due to budgetary constraints.

With a five-year incremental record starting in August 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, and 2018, exceeding reasonable expectations, this year's Taste of Manila beggars description. (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1cIFfkpnQI).

A prudent analysis based on what I've witnessed during my yearly news coverage, I would say the immense crowd would be well beyond the 350,000 official estimates of last year. A conservative number would be 400,000.

The indicators of the swell are very much in the open - the busloads of people coming from all directions, the lengthening of the festival area, the number of buses fielded by TTC to transport people, the shortage of food that forced revelers to patronize unregistered vendors, the mountains of garbage overflowing from bins, the long queues for food, the big number of cars parked within two kilometres of the festival, etcetera.

I talked with Rolly Mangante, the founding chairman of Taste of Manila, to get his impression about the size of the crowd. Well, he had one based on what the police told him. In utter disbelief, he said, the unidentified police officer estimated the festival was much bigger this year than the previous years, although he did not give a number. Fine.

But the moment came when the sea of humanity became an ocean of yelling, clapping, stomping, singing, dancing multitudes. And that's when the musical talents from the broadcast giant ABS-CBN-TFC performed their numbers. (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms1K7JYpzZk).

From then on, counting became impossible. Just imagine how big an ocean is and you'll get an idea how immense Taste of Manila was on its sixth year. (Copyright 2019. All Rights Reserved).