Pauwi ka na nang magsimulang pumatak ang ulan sa kahabaan ng Session Road. Kaysa lalong mabasa, maputikan ang mga sapatos, at mainip sa paghihintay sa pila ng dyip na pauwi sa Fairview o makipag-unahan sa laksa-laksang basang payong na nag-aabang ng manunubos na taxi, pinili mong dumiretso na lang sa Luisa's para sumilong at magkape, ilang oras bago bumyahe. Wala rin namang pinagkaiba kung alas-sais o alas-dose ang biyahe. Umaga ka nang makakarating sa Malolos.
Ngayon ka na lang uli tatambay sa Luisa's. Hindi na kayo madalas pumasok dito magmula nang tumindi ang crackdown ni Duterte sa mga aktibista. Bukod kasi sa tambayan ito ng mga taga-media, pugad din daw ng mga intel ang Luisa's. Sino nga ba ang nakapagkwento no'n? Sa mga nakaraang taon, dito kayo nagdaraos ng mga pulong at presscon. At baka nga naging laman na rin ng mga ulat ng mga hayop na intel na 'yon ang pinaggagagawa mo no'ng huling beses na pumunta kayo rito. Pero hindi 'yon ang agad mong naalala, o ang mga sumunod pang gabi ro'n kung saan sumasabay ang pagpikit ng mga mata mo sa pagsasata ng Luisa's. Naaalala mo si Lem.
Umakyat ka sa second floor at umupo malapit sa may bintana kung saan matatanaw ang katapat na Jollibee na dating McDo at ang katabi nitong McDo na dating Session Delights. Sa malayo, makikita na ang Harrison Road, sa mas malayo pa, ang Burnham Lake, at kahit saang dako, ang daluyong ng mga payong - iba't ibang kulay, laki, at porma. Dito kayo nagkakape at nagsusunog ng baga noon. Marami kayong naging tambayan ni Lem, pero pinakaispesyal ang Luisa's dahil dito nagsimulang lumalim ang pagkakaibigan niyong dalawa. Sa gitna ng walang-humpay na kwentuhan, paghigop, pagsindi, paghithit, at pagbuga, dinig niyo kapwa ang ingay ng mga busina sa labas at ang katahimikan ng mga lallakay na konsentrado sa pagbabasa ng dyaryo at paglalaro ng darts sa loob. Ngayong hapon, nandito pa rin ang nga lallakayânakasuot ng leather jacket, natatakpan ang mga balbas-saradong mukha ng Midland at Inquirer, at tulad niyo ni Lem noon, nasa siklo rin ng paghigop, pagsindi, paghithit, at pagbuga, nababalot ng ginhawang dulot ng init at usok sa pusod ng isang lungsod na natatahimik lang sa pagbuhos ng ulan. Bahala na kung mayro'n mang intel sa mga 'yan.
Maya-maya, tumigil ang ulan. Napansin mo ang inihapag ng waitress sa kabilang tableâdalawang plato ng sisig. Paborito ni Lem ang sisig na may kasamang Red Horse at Marlboro Black. Nakakakain pa kaya si Lem ng sisig do'n? Matakaw pa rin kaya siya ro'n? Umorder ka ng kape. Americana, pinakamura. Pinag-isipan mong humingi ng yosi sa lakay na nasa kabilang table, kahit pa ilang buwan ka nang tumigil. May isang hapong nakaubos kayong dalawa ng isang pack ng Marlboro Black sa loob ng tatlong oras. Pagbaba niyo, nagsimula kang mahilo hanggang sa magsuka ka sa tapat ng 7-Eleven, sa harap ng maraming tao. "Buti na lang, ikaw ang kasama ko," sinabi mo kay Lem habang pinupunasan mo ang mukha mo at di-maipinta ang mukha niya sa sobrang pagtawa.
Puro si Lem ang naaalala mo. Hindi naman niya birthday. Talagang nakapaskil lang ang pangalan niya sa bawat sulok ng Luisa'sâat malamang, ng Baguioâsa mapa ng isipan mo, hindi iba sa mga hinawakan niyong plakard, mga ipinintang parirala, mga pula at naghuhumiyaw na letra ng protesta at pakikibaka, o sa mga iniangat niyong bandila at kamao, mapangahas, mapang-akit, makapigil-hininga. Nasa himig ng pagkalansing ng bote ng pilsen sa bucket at pagtama ng darts sa board ang malalim na boses niyaâbuo, malinaw, kalkulado. Nasa amoy ng kapeng barako at kasisinding Marlboro ang gamit niyang pabangoâVersace Pour Homme Soirâna agad ding magpapaalala sa 'yo sa paborito niyang jacketâdenim gray na may detachable at mabalahibong hoodâna kapares na ng alaala ng simoy at lamig ng hangin sa Baguio tuwing malapit na ang Pasko. At sa kabila ng mga huling bakas na iniwan mo sa Luisa'sâmga bakas ng luha, uhog, at sukaâhalos dalawang taon na ang nakalipas, ang binabalik-balikan mo pa rin ay ang mga bakas na dalawa kayo ni Lem na nag-iwan.
Magdadalawang taon na nga ang nakalipas, pero nalulunod ka pa rin tuwing masisimulan mong balikan ang mga alaala ng buong panahong pinagsamahan niyo ni Lem. Pagkalunod na nakakagaan sa pakiramdam kahit gaano pa katagal, nagtatanggal ng mga pag-aalinlangan at limitasyong itinakda sa sarili. 'Yong tipong sigurado kang aahon at aahon ka, at usapin lang kung kailan. Lasap mo ang paglamon ng tubig sa lakas mo, sa paghinga at paggalaw mo. Para bang ipinagkakatiwala mo ang buhay mo sa karagatan, at buo ang pag-asa mong ibabalik at ibabalik ka ng mga alon nito sa kapayapaan ng dalampasigan. Dahil hindi mo kailanman natutunan ang lumangoy. Masaya ka nang maging kaisa ng mga alon sa panahon man ng unos o payapa.
Siguro nga, ganito ang proseso ng pag-alala. Ang mga alaala ay parang mga along pabalik-balik lang sa dalampasigan. Hindi madaling matukoy kung saan ang simula at saan ang wakas, kung saan ang pakikipagkilala at saan ang pamamaalam, dahil sa maraming pagkakataon, kung hindi man lahat, sila ay iisa.
Kaya hindi mo na rin maalala kung kailan at saan mo unang nakita si Lem, o kung paano kayo unang nagkakilala. Para sa 'yo, ang bawat alaala ay brutal at presiso liban ditoâang pinakauna, ang simula. At sa totoo lang, hindi mo na rin hinihiling na luminaw pa ito para wala ring katumbas na sakit kung mabalik-balikan mo man, hindi tulad ng pamamaalam ni Lem, na bagamat walang kasereseremonya, iisa sa maraming balita, iisang alon sa humahagupit na bagyo ng tadhana, ay walang kasinlalim ang iniwang bakas sa memorya.
Inihapag ng waitress ang tasa ng kape, garapon ng creamer, at tatlong sachet ng asukal sa harapan mo. "Sisig, 'ding?" "Maya-maya, ate." Inilapag mo sa tabi ng mga ito ang cellphone mo at binuksan. 12/16 ang petsa. 16:24 ang oras. 1 unread message mula kay Krishna Valeroso. "Anong oras ka ba darating? Susunduin ka raw ba ng Papa?" Sa makalawa, ikakasal na siya, ang nag-iisa mong kapatid. Bago matapos ang araw na ito, kailangan mong iwanan ang Baguio at ang mga alaala rito. Pero sa isip mo, baka nga may bagong simulang mabubuo ang pag-alala.
Maya-maya, tumigil ang ulan. Naubos mo ang kape at sumenyas sa waitress. "Ate, kape uli. Tapos chicken sisig. Salamat." Pagkaalis ng waitress, napansin mong umilaw ang screen ng cellphone mo. 1 unread message mula sa isang unknown number. "Tan? Nasa Baguio ka ba?" 16:42 ang oras. Iisang pangalan ang pumasok sa isip mo. Ă
Doon tayo sa dilim, ibaling natin ang pagod at pighati ng lumipas na araw, linggo, buwan, ibaling sa init ng ating mga labi, humimpil, kahit sandali, sa lamig ng hatinggabi. Magkubli tayo sa tabing ng daan-daang istorya na maisisiksik sa iilang oras na hawak natin bago ang pagsapit ng umaga. Hayaan natin ang mga tala na mag-usisa sa mga ibig sabihin ng bawat binibigkas na parirala, ng bawat binibitawang salita, ng mga binalewalang talinhaga na natagpuan sa gitna ng araw-araw na pakikibaka.
Doon tayo sa dilim, dahil may kailangan kang sabihin sa akin. Ngayong gabi, susubukan nating kumawala sa mga tanikala ng alaala. Sasama ba sa paggala ng gunita?
Kumusta ka? Maaaring hindi natin masagot sa una. Hindi mo sigurado kung may problema. Bakit dapat magtiwala sa kasama? Hindi ko alam kung paano tayo magkakaisa. Ano ang kahulugan ng iyong pagbuntung-hininga? Hindi nila alam kung bakit tayo tumatawa. Sino ang puwedeng sumagip sa iyo mula sa ganitong balintuna? Hindi ka nakikiisa sa aking mga puna. Hindi ka magpapaisa sa aking pagdurusa. Handa ka bang tumangan ng sandata pagsapit ng umaga? Maaari ba kitang maging sandata pagsapit ng umaga?
Doon tayo sa dilim, para alam natin kung may nagmamasid, nakikinig, naggugumiit. Nagmamasid, nakikinig, naggugumiit ang mga alitaptap sa paligid. Nagmumungkahi kung paano hulihin ang pagala-gala nating mga damdamin. Marami kang nais sabihin, at hindi mo ako kayang biguin. Marami akong gustong sabihin, ngunit sana ay sumapat ang kayang sambitin habang iniinda ang kirot ng mga damdaming nabinbin.
Mahaba-haba ang liham ng kalangitan. Sa liwanag ng buwan, sabay nating binuksan kahit sa akin lang nakapangalan. Isa-isa mong sagutin ang mga kalakip na katanungan. Maraming bagay ang hindi ko naiintindihan sa kasalukuyan, ngunit hindi ko iwawaglit sa isipan ang katotohanan na marahas, masalimuot, at puno ng pagpapakasakit ang digmaan. Kahit naman ano pang pahayag ang aking mabitawan, hindi ko bibitawan ang aking paninindigan na patuloy na pinapanday ng mga hamon ng kalagayan. Kasinliwanag ng buwan ang iyong katatagan.
Hindi kita makita, kung masaya ka o lumuluha, kung nakikinig ka o nagsasawa, tila may takot at kaba sa iglap mong pagtawa, tila may pagkabahala sa kabila ng iyong ipinagkatiwala.
Hindi naman ako nauubusan ng katanungan. Uulan kaya ulit kinabukasan? Ano ba ang dapat mong gampanan? Matutuloy kaya ang ating kuwentuhan? Magbabago kaya ang aking nararamdaman? Tama ba ang naging kapasyahan? Ano ba ang dapat kong pagpasyahan? Ano ba ang dapat kong paghandaan? Ang tangi kong kasiguraduhan ay ang aking kawalang-kasiguraduhan. Palaging may panibagong umaga para humanap ng kasagutan, humarap sa katotohanan, bumalik sa landas ng kawastuan.
Doon tayo sa dilim, kung saan mas madali para sa atin ang gumuhit ng mga hangganan.
Hanggang dito na muna, guguhit pa ako ng sandamukal na linya. Napagod akong pagmasdan sa karimlan ang mga linya sa iyong mukha. Binubura na ng klima ang ating mga linya. Hanggang dito na muna. Hinihila na ng grabidad ang aking katawang-lupa. Hinihimok na ako ng mga tala na humiga sa inihanda nilang tarima. Hanggang dito na muna.
Dito muna ako sa dilim. Salamat nang marami sa ningning na ibinahagi.
Hindi mahirap ang akalain na hungkag ang mga tala sa kalangitan.
Na binabagtas nila ang kalawakan nang walang tiyak na patutunguhan.
Na nilalakbay nila ang walang-hanggang karagatan ng kawalan, lumalagablab, sumasayaw, naghuhumiyaw sa kanilang kamangmangan.
Mga nilalang ng kadiliman, mga diyos at reyna ng kabalintunaan, mga kwentista ng mahiwagang kasaysayan ng sanlibutan.
Ngunit hindi ito ang katotohanan!
Ang mga tala ay materya.
May wakas at may simula.
Binangon sa panahon ng paglikha,
At papanaw alinsunod sa siyensiya.
Hindi likha ng haraya ang liwanag na dala nila!
Sa walang-hanggang siklo ng pagkawasak at pagkabuo,
Nailuwal ang esensya ng tala bilang sanggol at bilang ninuno,
Tangan-tangan ang daansiglong nakaraan at ang daantaong hinaharap sa anumang pagkakataon.
Binabagtas nila ang kalawakan nang may tiyak na patutunguhan.
Mga tala - at higit pa! Mga laksa! Laksa-laksa, daig pa ang mga planeta!
Nagkukumpulan sa gitna ng tiyak na delubyo ng walang-hanggang kadiliman,
Hercules! Perseus! Centaurus! Cepheus! Auriga! Cassiopeia! Andromeda!
Lumalagablab, sumasayaw, naghuhumiyaw, nakikibaka!
Mga kumukutikutitap na barikada sa mga tarangkahan na itinayo ng mga nagnginginit at duguang kamay ng mga gahaman!
Mga kumikislap na teatro ng digmaâtangan-tangan ang sandata at pangalan ng mga huwaran ng kasigasigan, katapangan, at kadakilaan!
Agustin! Lejo! Alfredo! Antonio! Leonardo! Mando! Maria! Nona! Recca!
Mga mandirigma sa dilim na panata ang labanan ang kawing-kawing na kabalintunaan ng kasaysayan,
Mga mandirigma ng liwanag na maglalansag sa kawing-kawing na tanikala ng mapagsamantalang sanlibutan!
Dinggin mo sila, dinggin mo ang mga tala,
Malasin ang kanilang maningning na pagsasama-sama:
Ang pagiging isa ay pagiging mahina!
Ang pakikipagkaisa ay pagiging malaya!
Saan nagmumula ang ganitong pagdagsa tuwing nayuyurakan ang kaluluwa? Tuwing tinatangkang sisirin ang kaibuturan ng diwa? Tuwing sinusubok ang nakamamanghang kabalintunaan ng mga tala?
Ilang linggo nang hindi pumapatak ang ulan dito sa kampo. Ang hinihiling ko - isang gabi na malunod lang sa pagdaluyong ng mga luha ng kalangitan ang kababawan na pilit pinagtatakpan.
Walang makaririnig. Walang makapapansin. Sa pagsapit ng dilim, hindi masusukat ang lalim ng tinatahak ng isip. At sa pagsapit ng umaga, babalik ang lahat sa wala.
Itong pahina ang magsisilbing huling hantungan ng kung ano man ang nadama at kung ano man ang nadarama pa.
Hindi pa rin maliwanag ang paghimpil ng larawan mo sa isip at mga panaginip. Lagi na lang nagliligalig ang mga alitaptap sa gabi tuwing aalalahanin ang iilang salitang nasambit, o ang mga titik na higit pa sa kinakailangan ang ipinahiwatig, o ang di-mailihim na pagtingin na tuluyan nang nabitin.
Uusisain ba ang patuloy na paggugumiit ng aking lihim na pagtabi, ng iyong pagsasantabi, ng mga pinangarap na huni at mga naikubling ngiti?
Wala nang silbi ang singilin ang langit sa labing-isang buwan ng pagkapit.
Kahit pa lubusin ng buwan ang pagwaglit sa iyong alaala, mananatili at mananatili ka sa aking gunita, kagaya nilaâmga bukal ng hiwaga ng pagkabinata, mga pagsangguni ng aking permanente sa mga bisig ng panandaliang ligaya.
Words don't come easy to me. It must feel weird; my star sign is Taurus after all. We live to be in the spotlight. Whether there is any truth to astrology is a futile debate (I hate to break it to you, but there is not!) but there is a certain degree of amusement when you find yourself in a room of people you just knew and you ask them what their star signs are. "I knew it!" your ass.
In a month, I will be turning 21. For the past twenty years, I have had a hard time trying to say what I really feel. Guys and girls I dated had left me because I was too engrossed in my own universe, according to them. The people I care about most are the people I talk to the least. The years I spent during puberty having no one at home to talk to about Lady Gaga or Neopets or color-coded J-Pop lyrics might have indeed wired me to be engrossed in my own universe. Or maybe it is because my star sign is Taurus: all I care about is me.
For a considerable part of my life - much of the half - my weakness found solace in the outstanding nonverbal creations of my universe. I fell in love with reading, so I came to be known as the defender of spelling and grammar in middle school. I got to Puerto Princesa, Palawan and into the University of the Philippines solely due to this fact. I fell in love with writing, so I took Journalism in college. (And finished with Latin honors. I never got to tell Tumblr about that.) The midlife of this blog saw me nursing my first heartbreak (and the second one, and the next...) through poems and posts I called "thought clouds". If circumstance had played a different game, I would be writing for a mainstream broadsheet right now. Probably trying to brush shoulders with F. Sionil Jose in Ermita every now and then.
I fell in love with fashion and fashion models. I spent countless days and nights venerating every gap on Jac Jagaciak's person, marveling at the politically-charged Vogue Italia editorials of Steven Meisel, tailing the only Booksale branch in Baguio until I had enough money to buy markdown back issues of international fashion magazines. I may have bought around 200 of them from this store alone. If you know anyone interested in owning copies of Cara Delevingne's first time on the cover of W, Jarrod Scott's pubic hair and dick in Vogue Hommes, or shit talk about the Brazilian national team even before they lost 1-7 to Germany, tell them I need money.
I fell in love with boys and girls who talked much more in an hour than I did in a day. Every relationship I had started and ended on the premise of this inequality. The friendships I made that thrived and survived made me talk much more than write.
Not to forget, I fell in love with albums more than singular songs. Long plays I hold dear function like capsules of time and space. Mylo Xyloto taught me to fly. I listened to Reflektor at my grandmother's wake. The Bends, Supermodel, A Thousand Suns, and What Went Down neither tamed nor aggravated, but validated, my discontent and anger towards the universe. I have a Vaccines person, a Neon Trees person, an Interpol person, and a Temper Trap person. And don't you judge someone based on what their favorite Beatles album is? I used to make mixtapes on Tapely (and now on Spotify) to replicate the feeling of being lost in another reality for an hour. Words don't come easy to me, so instead of gifts, letters, or birthday cards, I make mixtapes.
And so it came as a surprise to everyone, including myself, when I first held a megaphone.
Risk and Resistance: Baudrillard, Badiou, and Being an Activist
(On May 25, 2016, one month before graduation march, I turned in the last paper I wrote as a college student. A product of several nights of beer and staying out at a nearby bar, this paper was the final requirement for Philo 170 or Philosophy of Man. Please donât ask me why I, a Journalism major, took this course as an elective in my do-or-die final semester. The important thing is: I passed the goddamn course!)
Western astrology says that I am a Taurus. I was born on April 24, a date which falls under the sign of the Bull. Based upon the Cretan Bull, the mythical animal that fathered the Minotaur, people with such a sign are said to be the most headstrong, determined, strong-willed, and therefore, stubborn. Such traits, as astrology claims, are embodied by the said creatureâs horns.
The validity of Western astrology, and any other horoscopic astrology for that matter, is subject of another discussion. It is with no doubt that astrology is largely pseudoscientific, and the newspaper columns and booklets that, using its framework, are devoted to offering a foresight of the days, months, or years to come in oneâs life only work because they easily affirm oneâs confirmation bias. However, it is this exact reason that makes reading oneâs horoscope interesting, to say the least. While it may be a stretch to say so, astrology is just one of the innumerable ways we have created to make sense of our surroundings and our lives.
There is one tidbit of information about Taureans that struck a chord in me. It says, âTaureans are not fond of change. In fact, if change is imminent, they get very nervous and worried. They do not like anything new because anything new is unknown, and Taureans fear the unknown.â Apparently, the consensus among such horoscopes is that we Taureans actively resist change, and prefer comfort and familiarity over risk and adventure.
Not to say that I subscribe to astrology to the point of contending these words, I am alarmed and appalled that there is such a notion. After all, I for one am currently a part of a youth organization with national-democratic ideals and a socialist perspective, and the national-democratic movement in the Philippines has pushed for genuine social change and persisted for more than five decades, yet to waver in the face of every imperialist attack on the Filipino people. Coming from this, there spring questions in my mind as to how I approach change and how I see myself in the said movement. Am I really resistant to change? Do I really fear taking risks?
However, it is more apt to ask is if there is, indeed, such a thing as âresistance to changeâ. The field of philosophy, one that concerns appropriate aspects to address this problem, is at a point in time in which there is a re-invigorated interest in the human individual as a subject. After German continental philosopher Georg Hegelâs propositions on objective truth, or more particularly the lack thereof, we move towards an assessment of the subjectâs knowledge of the Real, one of the three registers of the mind permeating every mental act and influencing us in unique ways (the other two being the Imaginary and the Symbolic). Philosophy now asks how â or whether at all â the subject approaches objective reality. As Slovenian psychoanalytic philosopher Slavoj ĆœiĆŸek quipped, âWhy is there nothing rather than something?â
These questions can then be answered parallel to the simplistic and overarching adage, âChange is the only constant in this world.â Given its nature as both a lack and an impossibility, that which âresists symbolization and cannot be known by language, mathematics, or social rulesâ, how do we approach the Real as subjects? To contextualize the question, how do we see reality in relation to the movements for radical change all over the world? How do we see reality in light of the long-running national-democratic movement in the Philippines, or for the members of its allied organizations who are subjects themselves? What is reality for someone devoted to and engaged in the longest and most comprehensive resistance in the country? Having established the Real as a hole that is both fixed and impossible to reach, we shall ask then: why are we activists?
Philosophy and radical change
âPhilosophy no longer knows whether it has a suitable place,â wrote Alain Badiou of the field in the twenty-first century. This is a bold declaration on the fieldâs apparent softness in relation to the other sciences. Badiou supports his view with a division of philosophy into sutures (political-scientific, artistic, amorous) to re-assess its relevance and its significance at present.
Dermot Moran in 2008 wrote that given the political cataclysms of the 20th century, âit seems rather strange that political philosophy did not really develop as a subject until the latter part of the century.â Moran here pertains to the great events of the past hundred years, from the two World Wars, the Cold War, and the powerful yet sporadic revolts and uprisings in the midst of these. On the other hand, Peter Laslett famously said in 1956 (as quoted in Moran 2008) that political philosophy is dead âfor the moment, anywayâ. Both aiming to address the relevance of political philosophy at present, the two scaffold the argument excellently worded by Matt Matravers (as quoted in Moran 2008), that political philosophy must now look at things using the lens of justice. Matravers believes that political philosophy will âturn away from theorizing about the precise nature of justiceâ as it underlines global issues, and that it will foster âthe application of philosophical ideas to political practice [as] a matter of the particular, local, and historically informedâ. With the apparent failure of the movements for radical change â that is, to put an end to capitalism as a social order â the questions of political philosophy are at the limelight again.
Given these insights, it is imperative of philosophy to engage in the movement of the sciences not only to interpret the world, but more importantly, in the spirit of Karl Marxâs works, âto change itâ. Philosophy must now commit itself to not only understanding why injustices exist â a task rooting back to the Greek times â but more importantly, to address such injustices, to put an end to inequality, and to introduce a new order where inequality ceases to exist. The field of philosophy during Marxâs time generally adhered to his presentation of such an order, long-term and on a global scale, in the form of communism, one that is founded upon the liberation of the workforce. However, the philosophers of present time have contested the power and even the possibility of communism and a proletarian revolution â a goal that is shared in principle by the Philippine national-democratic movement â in light of the failure of the communist experiments around the world which were fascist and totalitarian in nature. These regimes imposed a new order with little consideration of the objective condition. Moreover, these revisionist regimes entrusted radical change to the institutions; this defeated the objective of communism to abolish the state, which it deems on the whole as an apparatus of oppression in itself. To make use of psychoanalytic concepts, they simply forced the subjective conditions to fill in the void.
One of the said philosophers, who has written about the intrinsic incapacity of a revolution to be birthed from the womb of the present order, is French cultural theorist Jean Baudrillard. Born in 1929, Baudrillard is best known to the public as the sociologist behind hyperreality, a term that encompasses his views on the commodity as the organizing principle of society. According to the University of Paris alumnus, we have lost contact with the ârealâ, and what remains is a fascination with its abolishment by models âmore real than the realâ. Hereafter, Baudrillard has adapted a neo-Marxist position, contending the Germanâs views on production in the context of postmodernity.
In spite of his materialist and Marxist roots, Baudrillard is unpopular among the likes of the national-democrats in the Philippines, because of his views that, for instance, the Left anywhere is only âkeeping capitalism alive with its moral critiques and its quests for meaningâ (Robinson 2012) which merely push capitalism to âpanicâ in the face of its own arbitrariness and to rectify its âtemporary correctable glitchesâ â which, on the other hand, expose its unjustifiability.
Baudrillardâs postmodernity
While his fellow Situationists retained hopes for liberation, Baudrillard radicalized their analyses and argued that even the fundamental assumptions of Marx â needs, labor, production â are mere signs, or âideological concepts created by the system itself to insinuate its survivalâ. He noted that âany attempt to talk about emancipation or alienation will be futile, because the system itself is no longer grounded upon a âgreat signifiedâ, a presence, or the real â emancipated from what?â (Baudrillard as quoted in Mendoza 2010), closing in on his radicalness as an analyst.
With society having transformed our relations into one based on what can be shown and with signs and images having reduced reality into appearance, everything is reduced to sign and everything is reproduced by the system as a sign. This is the point in which Baudrillardâs writing veers away the furthest from classical Marxism, with him declaring the âend of productionâ and that âthere is nothing more coming to beâ. Returning to hyperreality, even the Real is a sign for Baudrillard, and we are left with models that are more real than what we have come to know as real. To put it simply, we cannot contain the Real in a regime of signs. It is impossible to represent.
In a sprawling series of essays for British left-wing weekly Ceasefire, Andrew Robinson posits a tripartite view of the works of Baudrillard. The Frenchâs writings can be divided into the domains of symbolic exchange, of simulation, and of resistance. Robinson discusses Baudrillardâs views on symbolic exchange, how our alienated life today is suffering from its abolishment, and how capitalismâs reproducibility has invoked a new type of alienation â simulation.
Symbolic exchange âallows things to âmeanââ as it establishes a relationship between signs and reality. In the midst of the regime of manufactured scarcity, we yearn for âour lost continuity and interconnectednessâ as we simulate our reality through signs in a way that is âintense, ignorant of fashion, and disregarding of othersâ demands for particular meaningsâ (Robinson 2012). Therefore, a regime based on equivalence brought about by reproduction instead of on symbolic exchange wards off ambivalence through the simulation of need, which in turn drives us to live a life of consumption and to derive our meaning from it. Capitalism functions on social exchange, âreducing everything to a regime based on value and the production of valueâ.
As he posited, in a postmodern society, âthe need to speak, even if one has nothing to say, becomes more pressing when one has nothing to say, just as the will to live becomes more urgent when life has lost its meaningâ (Baudrillard 2012). Words like these challenge the ranks of the national-democratic movement in the Philippines which have been an agent of resistance in the country for more than 50 years and whose socialist ideals have mobilized the larger, disenfranchised fraction of the population to advance their rights and interests as citizens of a democracy. It is in this light that Baudrillard contends the impossibility of a revolution. As a society, we have foregone symbolic exchange. It can be argued that even resistance is a sign, since the institutions in place in our present condition, in exchange for the struggle for liberation, only give us images to consume, in the form of slight, sporadic, short-term reforms. As Johnson writes:
Liberation is thus nullified, and re-encoded as a role and as narcissism. Concrete gains for liberation movements are side-effects of this immense strategic operation to disempower oppressed groups through their reduction to function or role. We are drip-fed little bits of democracy and progress to ensure the systemâs survival.
Nevertheless, Baudrillard wrote of resistance by positing strategies of subversion through which he sees alienation being overcome or collapsing. However, what must be understood here is how these add up to the subjectâs knowledge of the Real, especially in this condition that seemingly escapes approaching it through representation and replacing it with hyperreality.
The possibility of a revolution
Speaking of Baudrillardâs writings on resistance vis-Ă -vis his view of reality, Robinson (2008) says that the loss of reality âmight explain why hope for liberation seems so hard to come by, and why revolutionary movements now seem to lack a clear vision of transformationâ. For one, his view that consumption is a socially imposed duty is an attempt to address âwhy workers and other oppressed groups fall for capitalist ruses and remain attached to the systemâ. Seeing the postmodern condition as unable to provide âanything referential or emotionally meaningfulâ, Baudrillard believes that radical change cannot be possible at all if we make use of the same ideas and institutions, if we decide to return to production or fixed meanings, and if we keep working under the same framework or system. It is therefore a risk we take if we embark upon the struggle.
In spite of the challenges of a postmodern condition, movements of resistance like the national-democratic movement in the Philippines continue to persist. Although the movement fields and actively campaigns for senatorial candidates and party-lists during general elections, for instance, its socialist perspective altogether rejects and counters the continuity of the current social order. In his work âTowards a Marxist Theory of Oppressionâ (2005), David McNally insists:
Capitalism could not continue to exist unless the majority of working class people believed in the system; unless they thought that in some sense the present system was the best possible and that all talk of a new and free society was âunrealisticâ. In order to keep its hold, capitalism is not only based on a system of economic and political domination; it also requires a system of ideological domination, a system through which workers can be made to believe bourgeois ideas.
Baudrillardâs words on resistance might be the French cultural theorist at his most benevolent towards activism. As a Marxist, what he shares is an acknowledgment of the necessity for liberation and therefore radical change; his point of departure lies in the means of the struggle for such. Alluding to the end of production, Baudrillard also believes that âevery option available to resisters has already been encoded, given a meaning and a response. This makes the system seem impossible to fightâ (Robinson 2008). Albeit a little pessimistic, he welcomes some sort of a revolution, still. Probably for Baudrillard, we are not that powerful to enforce a change in the objective order. What his pessimism might suggest is the need for a change in our subjectivity.
Sharing similar points, Badiou in The Rebirth of History (2012) says that the movements of resistance across the world must consider the impossible which is the Real, and how the subject ought to approach it. He writes, âThe rebirth of History must also be a rebirth of the Idea.â Badiou, born in 1937 in French Morocco, actively posits the resurrection of the idea of communism in his works on truth, the being, the event, and the subject. As he says in lecture âOn Optimismâ (2012), âFreedom has nothing to do with the capacities of an ordinary body under the law of some language. Freedom is: active participation to the consequences of a new body, which is always beyond our own body.â For Badiou, a radical change can only be achieved âby forcing the Real and by displacing the empty place, so as to make the impossible possibleâ. It can be said, then, that communism is the Real of politics, given its nature as a complete overturn of the subjective orders that have persisted in the past millennia and as an order that seeks to fill the gaps present in these.
According to Slovenian poststructuralist scholar Alenka ZupanÄiÄ, the Real signifies the incompleteness of reality. It is horrifying because it is impossible, in that it taunts the subject and asks the subject to overturn the convention of the symbolic order. Also, it âcannot be effaced and escaped by the subjectâ; there will always be figments of our world that we cannot understand. In this light, Badiou says that there must be âa forceful transformation of the Real into a consistent truthâ. The incompleteness of reality must be acknowledged, though not to the point that we as subjects become passive or even surrender to the objective order confronting us. We must work towards changing our current subjectivity in such a way that the fear of the unknown only challenges us to push further and to understand and eventually resolve what is unjust in society. Here, the role of the subject in relation to the Real is thus underlined. For ZupanÄiÄâs fellow Slovenian ĆœiĆŸek, the subject is âwhat endeavors to fill in the gap within the order of beingâ.
Go not gently and rage with me
It is in this light that Badiou truly promotes the idea of communism. As he writes in The Rebirth of History (2007):
The rebirth of History must also be a rebirth of the Idea. The sole Idea capable of challenging the corrupt, lifeless version of âdemocracyâ, which has become the banner of the legionaries of Capital, as well as the racial and national prophecies of a petty fascism given its opportunity locally by the crisis, is the idea of Communism, revisited and nourished by what the spirited diversity of these riots, however fragile, teaches us.
With the popular election of Davao City Mayor Rodrigo Duterte as the head of state and government of the Philippines, the national-democratic movement is given a limelight. With the president-electâs declaration of the social and economic reforms his administration is to offer, the progressive character of the movement is featured. Duterte, whose campaign strategy employed the creation of the Filipino peopleâs need for a brash, no-holds-barred figure to be at the helm of social transformation, has promised large-scale reforms.
In line with this, he has offered four seats in his Cabinet to âthe Leftâ. Apart from this, he is known to have close ties with the leaders and prominent figures of the national-democratic movement. In his youth, Duterte was a member of the banned, underground, national-democratic mass organization Kabataang Makabayan (KM). The Davao region, too, is a known bailiwick of the movement. Jose Maria Sison, founder of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP) and a chief consultant of the national-democrats, was even promised a safe trip home and a warm welcome after having been exiled to the Netherlands for decades.
The euphoria surrounding Duterteâs rise in power is double-edged at best. While Duterteâs relatively anti-imperialist and progressive stance may truly work in favor of the Filipino people, there remains the fact that radical change must come from below instead of the institutions that benefit in its repression. We cannot deem the image of a Philippines under Duterte as an unknown, since it was a given from the start, with his positioning as the most âdifferentâ and âprogressiveâ candidate, and even with his outing as a âsocialistâ and his promise of federalism for the country, he shall remain a figurehead of the current socio-political order. To quote Daniel BensaĂŻd in his essay âThirty Years After: A Critical Introduction to the Marxism of Ernest Mandelâ (2007):
Far from being a mechanical consequence of capitalist development, the rallying of the forces of resistance and subversion of the order established by capital is an incessant task recommenced in daily struggles, and whose results are never definitive.
In its struggle for genuine social change, the national-democratic movement must remain firm in its position of mounting a new, stable, and just social order instead of merely reforming and therefore reinstating the one currently in place. Moreover, it must be able to do this with the conscious knowledge that the objective order can never be perfect. Â
Having said all these, I begin to reaffirm my position in the national-democratic movement. Firstly, there is no such thing as âresistance to changeâ, more so when one is engaged in a movement of resistance against the current social order. There is only that social order in place which, given its scope in every aspect of life, makes it impossible to overcome. It is this position that promulgates our surrender to the current condition. There is only a fear of change, so to speak, since the Real remains an unknown and it is too horrifying to even approach.
However, as Badiou says, âDo not give up on that part of yourself that you do not know.â When I am faced with having to make a big decision, I either decide on what is more comfortable or familiar, or resolve to go with the flow and let the waves carry me. This is not simply being a Taurus, as I would defend before, but a manifestation of a code that is imposed upon each one of us as we are born to a system which promotes reproducibility over creativity and signs and images over reality. The system teaches us to fear radicalness and to lose hope that there can be a better world different from or outside the one we are living in.
Activism in its sole legitimate form â militant and uncompromising â is a resounding call waged upon us to acknowledge our subjectivity and to assert our significance in relation to our objective reality. As Friedrich Engelsâ dialectical materialism puts it, âThe alteration of nature by men, not solely by nature as such, is the most essential basis of human thought.â Philosophy must now veer towards the subject as an agent of radical change and the Real as an impossibility that a subject must nevertheless acknowledge. To be Icarus creating his own pair of wings and flying close to the sun â that is the great risk of our time.
References
Badiou, Alain, The Rebirth of History (New York: Verso, 2012).
Baudrillard, Jean, The Ecstasy of Communication (Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2012).
BensaĂŻd, Daniel, âThirty Years After: A Critical Introduction to the Marxism of Ernest Mandel,â in International Viewpoint (2007).
Diken, Bulent, Revolt, Revolution, Critique: The Paradox of Society (New York: Routledge, 2012).
Johnston, Adrian, âThe Quick and the Dead: Alain Badiou and the Split Speeds of Transformation,â in International Journal of ĆœiĆŸek Studies 1:2 (2007).
McNally, David. âTowards a Marxist Theory of Oppression,â in Another World is Possible: Globalization and Anti-Capitalism (Winnipeg: ArbeiterRing Publishing, 2005)
Moran, Dermot. The Routledge Companion to Twentieth Century Philosophy (New York: Routledge, 2008).
Mendoza, Daryl Y., âCommodity, Sign, and Spectacle: Retracing Baudrillardâs Hyperreality,â in Kritike, 4:2 (December 2010).
Robinson, Andrew, âJean Baudrillard and Activism: A Critique,â in Ceasefire (February 7, 2013), <https://ceasefiremagazine.co.uk/in-theory-baudrillard-14>.
Robinson, Andrew, âJean Baudrillard: From Production to Reproduction,â in Ceasefire (May 4, 2012), <https://ceasefiremagazine.co.uk/in-theory-baudrillard-6>.
Robinson, Andrew, âJean Baudrillard: Marx and Alienation â Draft 2,â in Ceasefire (February 17, 2012), <https://ceasefiremagazine.co.uk/in-theory-baudrillard-4>.
Robinson, Andrew, âJean Baudrillard: Symbolic Exchange,â in Ceasefire (February 17, 2012), <https://ceasefiremagazine.co.uk/in-theory-baudrillard-1>.
Robinson, Andrew, âJean Baudrillard: The Rise of Capitalism & the Exclusion of Death,â in Ceasefire (March 30, 2012), <https://ceasefiremagazine.co.uk/in-theory-baudrillard-2>.
I wanted to lie. I wanted to say
  it was the rain falling through a fine mist
      and shattering the lake into tiny
      fragments
[âŠ]
I never wanted it to be like this: hopeless
and ordinary,
Edward Hirsch, from âUnhappy Love Poem,â Wild Gratitude (Random House, 1986)
