Tag Archives: Filipino
Rehabilitation Center for the sexually abused children: creating therapeutic spaces to resume development interrupted by sexual abuse
A proposed 21st century Filipino pulmonary tuberculosis and pneumonia treatment, rehabilitation, research, and training center
Alambre gardens : an innovative Filipino space and design mental health therapeutics
A proposed prototype transient shelter: a mobile calamity refuge
DROGA: a proposed center for the development, rehabilitation, opportunities, growth, acceptance for male drug dependents
Bahay-bahayan Understanding non-traditional families: Re-thinking and re-examining the common notion of Filipino Family
Philosophy and Nation Building : The Case of the Philippines
The Philippines, being a divided nation, is still unable to catch up with the development of her Asian neighbors in the globalization process. Questions related to nationhood such as “Who is the Filipino?” and “Why is there a lack of patriotism among Filipino people?” remain despite the two historic events- the People Power I and II – showing the spirit of the Filipino. Filipino sociologist Randolf S. David defines nationhood as not a static concept based on territorial boundaries, common language, religion shared history and cultural heritage but a project, a continuing work of creation that requires a solidarity that is based on national imaginary. This paper attempts to define the role of philosophy in the project of building the Filipino nation. It argues that the project of nationhood needs a philosophy that is recuperative, critical, and projective. The project entails a philosophy of history, a philosophy of education, and an ethnics of discourse.
The purpose of a fish trap is to catch fish, and when
the fish are caught, the trap is forgotten.
The purpose of a rabbit snare is to catch rabbits.
When the rabbits are caught, the snare is forgotten.
When can I find a man who has forgotten words?
He is the one I would like to talk to.
CHUANG TZU (MERTON 1995, 154)
The above narrative of Chuang Tzu is titled by Thomas Merton “Means and Ends.” In the story, the gatekeeper went through self-deprivation to express his sorrow over his father’s death. But then he became a professional mourner, becoming the model of all other mourners. Mourning has become an end in itself (Sen 2000, 14).
It is true also of culture; culture is also a means to achieve freedom. And these two issues—economic development and cultural identity—are central to most if not all of the countries comprising the Southeast Asian region today. It takes a philosophical perspective to see that economic development and cultural identity are not ends in themselves but means to realize a greater freedom, the individual freedom to choose the lifestyle one has reason to live for and the social freedom to build the nation.
This paper is inspired by the articles of Randolf S. David in his column “Public Lives” in the Philippine Daily Inquirer now published in a book titled Nation, self and citizenship: An invitation to Philippine sociology with introductory essays by Josephine Dionisio, Gerardo Lanuza and Arnold Alamon (David 2004). It attempts to define the role of philosophy in the project of building the Filipino nation. David holds and advocates the view that nationhood is created, and shares Richard Rorty’s view of the pragmatism of philosophy and that its aim should be “to facilitate the conversation of cultures” (David 2007).
This view of philosophy as pragmatic and in dialogue with other cultures is not alien to the traditional philosophies of China, India, and Japan which philosophizing has always been intertwined with their history and religions. This is not the case with the Philippines which cannot boast of an ancient philosophical tradition and whose birth as a nation came as a rebellion against Catholic Spain and interrupted by the American and Japanese occupations. This lack of an ancient long tradition of philosophy and the struggle for nationhood pose both a challenge and responsibility to philosophical inquiry in the Philippines, in the face of a globalizing process that has made the country lag behind its Asian neighbors.
This paper is a modest contribution to this challenge and responsibility.
A Nation in Conflict
The Philippines today is a divided nation, mired by the cultures of poverty and corruption. The two are intertwined: Poverty breeds corruption, and corruption aggravates poverty.
Poverty stares us at the eyes: In the increasing number of children selling sampaguitas and rugs or knocking at car windows, in the low survival rate of children in school (for every 100 children entering Grade 1, only sixty-seven will complete elementary schooling), in the mushrooming of squatter colonies in urban areas, in families living under bridges and overpasses, in children and adults scavenging at garbage dumps, as well as in the recent Social Weather Station (SWS) survey of rising incidence of hunger (one in every five Filipino Families suffered “involuntary hunger at least once in the past three months)” (Mercado 2007, A10). It does not help us to see this reality when former President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo first reacted by saying that she too missed a meal sometimes because of heavy work, or when our government statistics told us that poverty incidence among Filipino families dropped by about 3 percentage points from 27.5 percent in 2000 to 25.7 percent in 2003 simply because they revised the old poverty threshold of PhP 13,823 per person per year of 2000 to PhP 11,605 in 2003 (Philippine Daily Inquirer 2005, M 6). In a recent SWS survey (December 2013), an estimated 11.8 million Filipino families rated themselves as poor, while some 8.8 million families said they were “food-poor.” But David argues (2004, 94):
[P]overty is not defined by hunger alone. Being poor also means being abandoned as children while parents work abroad. It means having to grow up in neighborhoods infested by drug pushers and assorted criminals. It means going to sub-standard public schools run by underpaid and cynical teachers who can offer no hope. It means being formed by an escapist culture of cheap thrills, sexy tabloids and violent movies, with no vision of life of sublimity or beauty.
The country used to be second only to Japan in the postwar period in terms of capacity for economic growth, Today it is “nearly at n living in to the bottom of the heap in Southeast Asia,” with almost half of the population absolute poverty (David 2004, 99-100). David understands this poverty as the product of two realities: First, the reality of economic underdevelopment and second, the reality of inequality. The first came as a result of the nation’s “special” trade relationship with the United States in return for hosting the American bases. Because of her reliance on American patronage, the country lost the opportunity to modernize, and raise productivity to compete in the world market. The second is that whatever wealth is produced, it is the rich who capture most of it, “while the poor get poorer, or are completely excluded from the mainstream production process itself and from the market. ‘Their dwindling share of the nation’s product prevents them from transforming themselves into more productive members of society” (David 2004, 99).
Two cultures exist then in Philippine society today: 1) The culture of the elite and, 2) the culture of the masa, the masses, the poor, with the bulk of them living in the countryside. In the cities like Makati, they occupied the squatter colonies that surround tall buildings and mansions. A typical scene of these two cultures is a family fine dining in a restaurant while outside there are children rummaging for leftover food in the garbage drum.
The lack of job opportunities in the country has driven many Filipinos to work in other countries as domestic helpers, entertainers, nurses, drivers, laborers, technicians, and teachers. Although the remittance of the Overseas Filipino Workers (OFW) has kept the economy floating and raised the value of the peso, the diaspora has its negative effects: Brain drain, low agricultural productivity, breakup of families, and children growing up without the guidance of either a mother or father and seeking guidance from their peers. The recent growing demand for Filipino nurses abroad is a case in point. Many colleges and universities offered nursing courses. Doctors were going back to school to get a nursing degree. With this trend, pretty soon hospitals will lack not only nurses but doctors.
The culture of poverty has brought crisis in the country’s basic educational system. The poor go to public elementary and high schools where tuition is free, while the rich go to expensive private schools. “What ultimately spells the difference between the costly private schools and the free public schools is access to competent teachers, textbooks, classrooms and other learning resources” (David 2004, 102). In a recent national examination for elementary school graduates, the average score was 57percent, way below the 75 percent passing score. Also statistics released by the Department of Education (DepEd) show that only six out of ten will complete Grade 6. The reason is again poverty, because while tuition is free the pupils will need money for transportation and school projects, and to feed their hungry stomachs.
For a long time, DepEd was known to be one of the government agencies riddled with corruption in the procurement of educational materials.
On the culture of corruption, the Philippines still remains one of the most corrupt countries in Asia. This is not to say that corruption is limited to the government, but with a corrupt government, people are more susceptible to corruption. In the published Cross-sectoral study of corruption in the Philippines by the Committee for the Evangelization of Culture of the Philippine Province of the Society of Jesus, “the wide range of responses on notions about corruption seemed to reflect both the pervasiveness of the phenomenon in the various sectors of the society as well as a lack of agreement on what constitute it” (2000, viii). According to one of the corruption surveys of the SWS, “one of every five Filipino managers say that ‘almost all’ firms in their line of business give bribes to win government contracts, while three of every five say they were asked for a bribe on at least one transaction last year” (Philippine Daily Inquirer 2007, Al).
But what is corruption? Definitions are grouped into three brackets: 1) The market-centered orientation looks at the corrupt official as behaving like a businessman making use of his office to maximize profit in the process of exchange and the balance between supply and demand; 2) The public-interest centered approach defines corruption as “an act of an office holder which favors one special section of the public that gives the rewards not legally provided for, thus, resulting in damage to the common interest of the general public” (Philippine Daily Inquirer 2007, 11); 3) The public-office centered perspective sees corruption as “an act which violates, or deviates from, the formal rules of a public office because of private-regarding gains” (Philippine Daily Inquirer 2007, 11-12). Corruption is differentiated from graft in that corruption is “the use of public office or the betrayal of public trust for private gain,” while graft is “the acquisition of gain in a dishonest or questionable manner” (Philippine Daily Inquirer 2007, 12). Corruption can take many forms, such as bribery, extortion, fraud, nepotism, graft, speed money, pilferage, theft, embezzlement, falsification of records, kickbacks, influence-peddling, and campaign contributions (Philippine Daily Inquirer 2007, 13). We can add vote buying, vote padding (dagdag-bawas) and calling an election commissioner (Hello Garci!). In all these definitions of corruption, the common or public good is sacrificed in favor of one’s own personal gain, such as the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) indicating a lack of collective conscience.
Why this lack of a collective conscience among Filipinos? David traces it to the failure of the state and religion to forge a social solidarity due to their colonial origins. Unlike traditional societies like Thailand and Korea, where moral consensus first developed under a unifying religion and matured under a despotic ruler, Philippine society did not have any unifying religion or government to serve as moral authority. “Pre-Spanish moral communities were. no bigger than clans,” and “progress to nationhood was many times intercepted by colonialism” (David 2004, 281). “Thus, even in contemporary times, we imagine ourselves foremost as brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers of our families instead of as citizens of a nation. We practice a high degree of responsibility for our family members even as we continue to remain indifferent to the social issues that affect one and all” (Alamon 2004, 266). Philippine society is, in the words of the historian Alfred McCoy, “an anarchy of families” (David 2004, 28).
The cultures of poverty and corruption are attributed to poor governance in the history of the Filipino nation. Leadership in the country is characterized by patronage instead of service to the people. Although the country was the first to establish a republic in Asia, democracy has remained in form but not in substance. “People regard their leaders as patrons who provide for their needs in exchange for their political loyalty during the elections” (Alamon 2004, 267). The political leader is known in the Filipino lexicon as the trapo, literally meaning “a piece of cloth used for cleaning,” but referring to the traditional politician (`tra” for ‘traditional’ and `po’ for ‘politician’) “who uses wealth to buy power, exploits the poverty of his constituents through selective patronage, and treats public funds and facilities as if they were his Own personal resources” (David 2004, 151).
A long history of poor governance has also brought about the Moro secessionist movement in the South, the communist rebellion in the countryside, the marginalization of ethnic minorities such as the Aetas of the Luzon and the Lumads of Mindanao, among others, and language rebellion of the Visayans.
The Moro rebellion in Southern Mindanao cannot be attributed simplistically to religious differences between Christians and Muslims, nor to ethnic superiority of Christians over Muslims, for sometimes Filipinos do draw from the richness of Moro culture to define the roots of their pre-colonial being (David 2004, 73). No doubt, land ownership is an essential issue in the conflict as decades ago Filipinos from the North settled in the `Land of Promise’ that was Mindanao, tilting and titling lands, displacing their inhabitants that were the Muslims and lumads (non-Muslim natives). The Moros have not forgotten their struggles against outsiders because they have always resisted being ruled by others. Filipinos on the other hand have generally forgotten that they became Filipinos in the context of colonial subjugation” (David 2004, 73). Post-colonial governments continued the colonial masters’ paradigm of integration and pacification using military force. The Moros for centuries were depicted as pirates, kidnappers, bandits, and untrustworthy people inclined to run amuck when provoked. Even the media today would oftentimes add the word “Muslim” to a robber or criminal when he is one but not the word “Christian” to a Christian lawbreaker. This stereotyping of the Moros grows out of a “system of governance that conforms only to the interests and nuances of the largely lowland Christian population” (Montalvan 2007):
The Moro problem is not a problem of political integration and social assimilation. It is rooted in our failure to recognize difference, and to multiply those opportunities in which we can mutually think of one another as sharing similar intentions in a land that by accident we commonly inhabit. This is a slow painstaking process. We cannot begin to solve the problem by self-righteously asserting the inviolability of our constitution and proving this by the might of our army. Our constitution has not protected or benefited the Moros; they are right to reject it. And no army can end this problem unless it is prepared to commit genocide (David 2004, 74-75).
The long protracted rebellion of the leftist New Peoples Army (NPA) can also be blamed on the government for her failure to promote social justice in the country. When Corazon Aquino became president, she granted amnesty to those who would give up their arms and this paved the way for a new constitution that allow leftist parties to become members of Congress. But the continued killings of leftist leaders and of anti-administration media men particularly during the previous administration, brought the country back to the martial law years of Ferdinand Marcos.
The problem of the Aetas is again due to poor governance. The Aetas were the original settlers of the archipelago, long before the Malay immigrants, who were pushed back to the mountains from their coastline and river dwellings, There was even a time that they were charging the Malays taxes in kind for the use of the land. The American colonial government designated a reservation area for them at the foot of Mt. Pinatubo. But since the 1960s loggers have intruded into their protected area. The Philippines government simply created an understaffed office, the office for Northern Cultural Communities (ONCC), to do away with the problem. When Mt. Pinatubo erupted, the Aetas descended from their dwelling and roamed the streets of Manila, begging. And during the Christmas holiday season, they can be seen again in the streets of Manila. The Aetas “bring up the past. They interrogate our values. And their mute presence comes as a question: (W)ho owns this country?” (David 2004, 68). Are not the Aetas also Filipinos?
Nowhere is the question of Filipino identity more pronounced than in the issue of the national language. The Construction mandates the establishment of national language commission to develop, propagate, and preserve the Filipino and other language. The reality is that this has never been done, and the language continues to be Tagalog-based, eliciting a kind of language rebellion from the people in the South who insist on using their own regional language. Aggravating the problem is the executive order of former President Macapagal Arroyo mandating the use of English as the medium of instruction in schools to improve the English proficiency of Filipino, as well as to answer to the demands of globalization, in particular to make them qualified for jobs in call centers.
Regionalism rather than nationalism prevails in the associations of Filipinos abroad: Various Filipino associations abroad are based on regions sue as Bicolanos, Cebuanos, Ilongos, etc. A Filipino relates more to his region than to the nation.
This is not to say, however, that Filipinos are bereft of the spirit of patriotism. The two People Power revolutions in 1986 and 2001were shining moments of the Filipinos’ love for country, rising above self, family, region, religion, and ethnicity. The challenge is to make this a reality in the daily lives of the Filipinos. And this involves the notion of nationhood as a creation.
Nation Building as a Project
Following Ernest Gellner s view, David holds that the nation is neither a destiny nor an end in itself but rather a continuing work of creation for the fulfillment of individual happiness” (Dionisio 2004, 4). Gellner opposes the view that the nationhood is a fundamental aspect of human organization and is as old as human society itself (Dionisio 2004, 21). For him, the concept of nation emerged only in the late 1800s in the transformation of Europe into a modern industrialized society. The industrial economy with its new division of labor required a mobile and continuously changing workforce with new set of skills that can no longer be learned at home or in the parish. Thus a secular educational system was established with standardized curriculum and a common language for instruction. People from different places with diverse cultures became unified under this new system of education and division of labor, their differences suppressed by the state. “Nation building became a euphemism for homogenization. The claim of most modern states that they constitute a unified nation with their common boundaries can, therefore, be seen as a myth that became congenial to solidifying the emerging nation- states in Europe” (Dionisio 2004, 11). A nation therefore is not really founded on some inherent common characteristic of a group of people but simply the organization of human groups into a large, centrally educated, culturally homogeneous units” (Dionisio 2004, 11). founded on some inherent common characteristic of a group of people but simply “the organization of human groups into a large, centrally educated, culturally homogeneous units” (Dionisio 2004, 11).
In the case of the colonies like the Philippines, the myth of nationalism served as an inspiration in the struggle for liberation. But after independence was finally won, the differences resurfaced and gave birth to new conflicts. Franz Fanon thus argues against the notion that nationhood is based on factors like common language, shared history or cultural heritage (Dionisio 2004, 12). In the case of the Philippines, the Filipino nation was partly an invention of European-educated Filipino intellectuals who, inspired by the upheavals in Europe in the 1800s, used the native language in print media to disseminate the narrative of a people denied of their right to national identity. In fact, the national hero Dr. Jose Rizal, who could speak several languages, likened the Filipino who can not speak his own native language to a stale fish. But after the revolutionaries won the war against Spain, the Americans took over the islands, followed by the Japanese. Filipino nationalists fought against the Americans, and later allied with them against the Japanese, which victory tied the country to protect American investments in the country and to keep the military bases for a long time. Thus, in the 1970s, nationalism took the form of anti-imperialism and factions soon surfaced in the categories of “leftist,” “rightist,” “moderate,” “left of center,” “right of center,” etc., until then President Ferdinand Marcos declared Martial Law in 1972. The manner in which Filipinos surrendered their freedom to the authoritarian rule of Marcos and bearing with it for fourteen years showed a “romanticized view of democracy, forgetting the simple truth that the presumed advantages of democracy may not be obvious to—because they are not objectively felt by—the vast majority of the people. A people besieged by extreme poverty, persistent injustice, and lack of social mobility will always feel it has nothing to lose by betting on a forceful figure who presents himself as a social reformer” (David 2004, 160).
Murtada Mutahhri shares Fanon’s view that a shared history, a common language or cultural heritage are not essential elements of national integration. “At the root of nationalism…is a people’s sense of common suffering combined with a shared dream for an alternative future” (Dionisio 2004, 12). This sense of common suffering burst into the People Power of 1986, but its euphoria did not last long enough to inspire successive administrations to provide structures to alleviate poverty and curb corruption. And when corruption epitomized itself in the presidency of Joseph Estrada, People Power rose again to unify the people. But after that, nothing has changed; poverty continues to drive increasingly Filipinos away from their home to other countries in search for jobs, and the Muslim conflict in Mindanao remains unresolved. Dionisio (2004, 6) further says “that solidarity based on national identity remains weak in the Philippines is probably best articulated by the state’s failure to provide its citizens with an acceptable reason to remain Filipino.” On the part of the Filipino citizens is the lack of a “shared vision for an alternative future.”
Nationalism or patriotism “need not be grounded on primordial ties based on a shared cultural heritage or ethnic origin. One need not look for a true Filipino identity, it is enough to invent one” (Dionisio, 7).Nationhood is created, a project of a people who dream of an alternative future. Citing Benedict Anderson, Dionisio (2004, 7) insists that “a nation is an imagined community because the members of even the smallest nations will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives an image of their community.”
This project of creating a nation is even more imperative in the face of the homogenizing and alienating tendencies of globalization. The state must seize this project by exercising creative and effective governance, “ensuring that the breakneck pace of globalization will not worsen the already pathetic quality of life of most Filipinos” (Dionisio 2004, 8). This will require the concerted efforts of the government, the business sector, and civil society to provide the basic necessities of the people so that the “Filipino” will not be synonymous with “the maid in European or Singaporean homes, a prostitute or a dancer in Japan, and an underpaid seaman in a foreign cargo-boat” (David 2004, 78). In the face of the homogenization of culture of globalization, the project challenges us to refashion nationhood “away from the arrogance of ethnocentrism,” to embrace cultural diversity (Dionisio 2004, 13).
The project of nationhood entails a rereading of the nation’s past with the view of creating the nation’s destiny. “A nation needs to continuously redescribe its historical milestones as it attempts to use history as a guide to the present” (Dionisio 2004, 7). For example, the historian Ambeth Ocampo shares the different interpretations he went through of the coming of Ferdinand Magellan to the islands in 1521. As a boy, he was taught that “Magellan discovered the Philippines,” and “even thought that the villains in the story were the half-naked savages led by Lapu-Lapu, who killed the first tourist to our shores” (Ocampo 2009, 8). Later, he was corrected by the historian Gregorio Zaide: “Magellan did not discover the Philippines, he merely ‘rediscovered’ it—for how can he discover a place that already had people in it?” (Ocampo 2009, 8). In college, he met another historian Teodoro A. Agoncillo who disagreed with the word “rediscovered”—”Did the Philippines disappear under the sea and come up again for Magellan to re-discover it? How can you re-discover what is not lost?” (Ocampo 2009, 8). Now Ambeth Ocampo, in writing his own version of Philippine history, will simply say that “Magellan arrived in the Philippines in 1521.” Our reading into the nation’s history should therefore be instructive in the making of the nation.
The project of building a nation also entails a new dealing with the state. The state should “welcome the possibility that individual citizens may multiple nationalisms,” recognizing “the right of ethnic groups to nurture choose, assert, and enrich their own culture and identity thus enabling them to chart their own development as a people” (Dionisio 2004, 13) . Cultural diversity, however, “can thrive more fruitfully in a situation where everyone regardless of ethnic or religious affiliation is able to collect economic and political benefits from the state” (Dionisio 2004, 14). Nationhood requires accountability on the part of the state, that it should “put in place structures that would ensure sustained productive and meaningful employment for an increasing population… A state without a coherent plan and a deliberate attempt to develop a manufacturing and industrial sector, watches passively as its cities become mere service centers for foreign companies, where jobs are limited, temporary’ and unstable” (Dionisio 2004, 14).
Building a nation requires a constant reinvention of its institutions. The first institution that needs to be reinvented is the family. The family needs to be reoriented through the retelling of stories that “expands its concept of kin,and to widen the mantle of its nurturing to include those who are deprived, abandoned, or exploited” (Dionisio 2004, 16).
Next to be reinvented is the educational system of the nation, for education is the nation’s investment into the future. The present basic education system of the Philippines is evidently inadequate to enable the citizens to participate meaningfully in the building of the nation. Basic skills of reading, writing, and doing arithmetic need to be ensured with the cooperation of the business sector and civil society. “Without these skills, an individual is prone to victimization and exploitation” (Dionisio 2004, 16). In the secondary level, the teaching of values education should not be a separate subject but integrated into the different subjects, and the teaching of the nation’s history should not be just informative but formative, inculcating the value of patriotism. In the tertiary level, “universities must be able to assert themselves in this context by cultivating a type of liberal education that would ‘enlarge the horizons and explore utopias,’ as well as inspire self-reflection and hope in every generation…The state needs to invest in the education of young intellectuals to whom it may bequeath the task of nationhood” (Dionisio 2004, 16).
The project of nation building requires the rebuilding of political institutions to make democracy work in the concrete lives of the people. This means democratizing our political institutions (such as the Commission on Elections) so that there can be more meaningful participation in decision-making for the majority of the people. “An elitist electoral system that screens out the participation of the majority in the political arena by focusing on personalities and material capabilities should be replaced by one that focuses on educational campaigns and a debate on issues” (Dionisio 2004, 17).
Together with the rebuilding of political institutions is the overhauling of economic institutions. The country is not lacking in natural resources but it remains poor because they have not been harnessed for the majority but exploited for the private interests of the few. Agricultural development must go hand in hand with industrialization. And private corporations must embark on corporate social responsibility (CSR) programs.
The power of the media in nation building cannot be underestimated. “Media is a public trust,” and must be “made conscious of their responsibility towards the public,” which is “to educate their viewers by providing them with carefully thought-out and sensitive presentations” (Dionisio 2004, 19).
They need to be more imaginative, resisting stereotyping and sensationalism in presenting the truth and to contribute to the concept of “human” and “human rights” that is more inclusive. Instead of producing more escapist entertainment “media should refocus their attention to the task of nationhood, and to its mission of rewriting a fitting narrative for the Filipino nation” (Dionisio 2004, 19).
Religious institutions too can contribute to the task of building the nation. The present Philippine Constitution states the inviolability of the separation of church and state, and allows the free exercise of one’s belief and worship. But this culture of pluralism and tolerance is still very much in the process of formation in the country (David 2004, 133). “A Filipino nation that is more respectful of ‘otherness’ should be able to embrace a variety of beliefs” (Dionisio 2004, 19). With respect to religious practices, these must be seen as expressions of one’s spirituality but which “syncretically weave their unique fabric from every available material,” and are therefore necessarily historical, and hence, artifacts of culture. Our religious practices should be made meaningful to the nation, because “with faith comes the responsibility to employ reason in constantly reassessing even our most sacred beliefs and practices. Deepening our faith means ‘to divorce religiosity from habit, (and) to reinvent the Church as a valuable human institution in an evolving society” (Dionisio 2004, 19).
Dionisio (2004, 12) sums up this project of nationhood in the following words:
Our generation is faced with the challenge to reinvent a narrative of the nation that is conscious of the contingency of its solidarity as a nation, thus creating a nation that is less demanding and more tolerant. The task of nationhood in this sense is to allow the flourishing of individuals who nurture varying affinities and identities, and by accident, are forced to live together in a common space and time. The creative faculties of this generation need to be harnessed toward building a nation where no one is a foreigner, where the link between nation and individual can be mediated by other forms of solidarity, and whose collective hatred would only be directed towards the abhorrence of war. Nationhood should be able to recognize, tolerate, respect, and protect affinities and identities that may be based on race and ethnicity, gender, and class. Nationhood is not an end in itself. It is a continuing process of broadening the limits of our imagined community.
Philosophy and Building the Filipino Nation
Given this enormous task of building the Filipino nation, what then is the role of philosophy in such a project?
The first task of philosophy, I believe, is recuperative. To create a nation is to go back to the nation’s past, to reread, reinterpret, and rewrite the narrative(s). Doing history, however, presupposes a philosophy of history. The historian organizes his knowledge of the past not “independently of the framework of his own life-practice [Lebenspraxis]” (Habermas 1977, 350). The life-practice of the historian is a horizon of expectations, the goal-settings, “in the light of which every relevant event can in principle be described as completely as possible for the practically effective self-understanding of a social life-world” (Habermas 1977, 350). A philosophy of history is a reflection of the past in the anticipation of the future to understand the present. “Without philosophy of history, no historical event can be completely represented” (Habermas 1977, 349).
This recuperative task of philosophy also applies to tradition, not only to religious practices but more importantly to the traditional values of the nation. Philosophy must reflect on what traditional values of the Filipinos can be tapped for nation building. A good example that comes to mind is the value of bayanihan, in the past symbolized in Filipinos carrying th house of their neighbor for transfer. Today, the Couples p s of Christist mobilizing ). h. as successfully carried this out in the Gawad Kalinga 777 Project, mobilizing Filipinos in the country and overseas and foreigners to build homes for the homeless and to provide livelihood and values education to their families.
David cites Nietzsche’s three uses of history that correspond to three kinds of history: Monumental, antiquarian, and critical (David 2004, 24- 26). History is remembering the past. We remember the greatness of past generation’s struggle for independence to inspire us in our present struggles.
But this can be mythified, and this is where antiquarian history is used to counter it. But antiquarian history can also result in mummification, which is why, critical history is important. Critical history “demands the ability to repudiate institutions, an entire way of life inherited from the past, a first nature given to us by tradition—in the interest of a new discipline that allows us to free ourselves from that which shackles us” (David 2004, 25-26).
This brings us to what I believe is the second task of philosophy in nation building—critical. Nation building requires a new dealing with the state, that it be responsive to the basic needs of the people. Philosophy acts as a critique to the state’s policies and laws, evaluating them in the light of what is ethical (what is good for the community) and what is moral (what is just for all). It criticizes the state’s authoritarian tendencies, reexamining the meaning of democracy in the context of a pluralistic society. In concrete, philosophical reflection is needed on the state’s notion of property; landed or intellectual, in view of what best benefits the poor.
Philosophical reflection is intrinsically self-reflective; it criticizes not only the other but one’s own self, both the personal and the social or institutional. On the personal, philosophical reflection asks of oneself, “What have I done to alleviate poverty or curb corruption?” This brings us to the relevance of the “ethics of the face” or the “responsibility for the Other” of the philosopher Emmanuel Levinas. What do I do when a street kid knocks on my car window? Knock back? David says, “Since reading Levinas, I have found it impossible to do that and not morally acknowledge the presence of faces peering through the closed windows of cars on the streets of Manila” (David 2004, 338).
On the social level, reinventing our institutions for nation building entails self-critiquing our family values, educational system, political institutions, economic institutions, the media, the church we belong to, and our faith. Self-reflexivity asks the questions: Is my family a closed one, seeking the interest only of the clan, or open, embracing other destitute families? Is my institution responsive to the other? Philosophy examines the virtue of tolerance: Is it simply a passive acceptance of the other’s belief and conviction, or a celebration of difference?
Philosophy in nation building, however, must not contend itself only with recollecting and critiquing; it must also be projective of the future. It must offer alternatives ways of living together, of new forms of solidarity, of—in the philosophy of Richard Rorty—”a better society where there is less cruelty, pain and humiliation; where democratic subjects are given as much space to Practice their idiosyncratic and sublime practices” (Alamon 2004, 277). Philosophy projective is a philosophy of hope in the way that Gabriel Marcel (1951) speaks of hope as creative, intersubjective, and transcendent. Hope is creative in the sense that the person will not fall into cynicism, inaction, or despair but will as “find a way.” Hope is intersubjective and transcendent because hope expresses itself authentically in “I hope in Thee for us.” Hope cannot be separated from love or compassion or generosity and from a belief in a Transcendent.
These three simultaneous roles of philosophy must find their way in the philosophy of education of our schools, private or public; in the mission-vision statements of business corporations and civil societies, and in religious institutions as well. In the public sphere of Philippine society, they take the form of a discourse ethics of Habermas, where social issues are discussed, argued, validated with the aim of reaching a consensus, using the force of the better argument in place of arms.
In the end, the role of philosophy in nation building is “to ground our national identity in universal values that are shared by the rest of the human community” (David 2004, 79). Values such as honesty, integrity, transparency, courage, selflessness or generosity, and love of country.
With the examples of the martyred nationalist Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino and the icon of the first People Power revolution Corazon “Cory” Aquino, and with the Daang Matuwid doctrine of the younger Aquino, President Noynoy or “PNoy,” we refuse to give up hope and commit ourselves to building a nation. Together we can make this nation Filipino, where every citizen is proud to be Filipino.
Peace Journalism Produces More Hope and Empathy in Filipino Audiences
Introduction
This interdisciplinary article weaves together journalistic practice with psychological testing to explore whether ideas about the framing of news to contribute to peace actually make any difference to consumers, both cognitively and emotionally. Hence, the first half considers the historical background in the Philippines that has shaped how news producers and consumers make meaning. Rather than running a laboratory-based study, researchers worked in the field, in the TV newsroom of Davao-based ABS-CBN, utilizing material already broadcast. This material could be defined as “war journalism,” thus enabling it to be reframed as “peace journalism.”
Lynch and McGoldrick (2005, 5) define .peace journalism to be “when editors and reporters make choices—of what stories to report, and how to report them—which create opportunities for society at large to consider and to value non-violent responses to conflict.” Peace journalism was developed from the original schema by Johan Galtung (in Lynch and McGoldrick 2005, 6) that differentiates it from war journalism, as seen below:
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The alternative framings were then tested on audiences using a variety if qualitative and quantitative techniques to elicit cognitive and emotional responses.
The Philippines Discourse
The Philippines got its name in the sixteenth century when Spanish conquistadores under King Philip established a settlement and embarked on more than three centuries of colonial rule. The unified country was then sold to the United States (US) as part of the Treaty of Paris, which ended the Spanish-American War in 1898. Filipinos rose in rebellion against the Americans, but the uprising was finally quelled, with great loss of life, before the outbreak in Europe of World War I.
The US remained the colonial power until after World War II when the Philippines attained independence, but the country soon emerged as a key Cold War ally, signing a security pact with Washington in 1951. Nearly twenty years later, during the war in neighboring Vietnam, a significant Communist insurgency flared. With US backing, then President Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law in 1972. Marcos was deposed by a people power revolution in 1986, and the new government under President Corazon Aquino closed down the US military bases and opened peace negotiations with the Communists.
Later, Washington regained influence through military cooperation in the so-called war on terrorism, with the country’s second female president, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, declaring all-out war in 2006 on the New People’s Army (NPA), the military wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP). By the time of the experiment described in this article, in early 2011, this cycle had apparently turned round again, with Benign() Aquino III, Corazon’s son, now ensconced in Malacañang, and peace talks with the CPP-NPA once more on the government agenda.
Media had often played a significant role in these developments. Coronel (2000, 149) emphasizes the “legacy of a century-long tradition of a fighting, anti-colonial press.” Through the twentieth century, “clandestinely distributed newspapers helped raise awareness of the evils of nearly 400 years of colonial rule, germinating the idea of an independent Philippine nation” (Coronel 2000, 149-150).
Towards the end of the Marcos dictatorship, a new newspaper was founded—the Philippine Daily Inquirer or PDI—with the explicit aim of hastening the end of martial law. In the early weeks of 1986, it ran a series of high-profile investigative articles which, according to Coronel (2000, 147-148), exposed
…the massive cheating which Marcos had engineered in national elections, provoking widespread anger and stoking discontent… The fall of President Marcos, in February 1986, was not just a sensational story. The local Filipino media played a key role in the political confrontation and—it could be argued—tipped the scales in favor of the pro-democracy movement.
Media also formed a key arena for contestation as the war on terrorism template was imported by the Arroyo Administration and applied to the conflict with the NPA. The “signature propaganda ploy for the war on terrorism” (Lynch 2008) is to “decontextualize” political violence by nonstate actors, leaving readers and audiences to infer instead that any such incident arises from what the novelist Gore Vidal called “motiveless malignity” (Lynch, 2008).
In contrast, the Human Security Law belatedly adopted in 2007 by the Philippine Congress refers to “taking into account the root causes of terrorism without acknowledging these as justifications for terrorist and/or criminal activities.” Remedies included equitable economic development: a reference open to interpretation as sympathetic to at least some portions of the CPP analysis that the Philippines is in need of radical reform and a rebalancing of society in favor of its poorer members.
Applying evaluative criteria based on the peace journalism model, Lynch (2008) found this conflict over the representation of political violence, its causes, and appropriate responses to be manifest in media coverage at the time. In Galtung’s -(1998) original table, the characteristics of peace journalism appear on the right hand side; those of “war/violence journalism” on the left. The latter presents conflicts as a zero-sum game, with two parties contesting the single goal of victory: closed space, closed time, causes and exits in arena. In contrast, the former allows for open space, open time, (with) causes and exits anywhere. It means there is a preference for “non-violent, developmental responses to conflict” (Lynch and McGoldrick 2005, 5). Lynch and Galtung (2010, 15) comment:
The position taken here is not that good reporting on conflict is some kind of compromise with a little from the left hand column and a little from the right. The position taken is in favor of the second column, peace journalism, and against war journalism.
Shinar (2007) characterizes peace journalism as including backgrounds and contexts in the reporting of events in conflict. Hence, Lynch (2008) says, the extent of peace journalism in Philippine media on this particular point “indicate(s) the relative political traction of the `war on terrorism, on the one hand, and approaches based on conflict management, peace building and equitable economic development, on the other” when deciding on appropriate responses to the NPA conflict (Lynch 2008, 147).
Lynch found a high quotient of peace journalism in Philippine media in their coverage following Arroyo’s declaration of war in 2006, compared with coverage in international media. It is an important clue as to the intertextual influences on the meanings any Philippine audience is likely to make in response to further iterations of the same story. In this research, therefore, we are using a discourse historical approach (Wodak 2001) to critical discourse analysis (CDA).
Fairclough and Wodak (1997, 258) define CDA to propose
…a dialectical relationship between a particular discursive event and the situation(s), institution(s) and social structure(s) which frame it: the discursive event is shaped by them, but it also shapes them. That is, discourse is socially constitutive as well as socially conditioned.
The discourse revealed in Philippines media is both conditioned by, and helps to construct, the country’s responses to conflict, with peace journalism already established in at least one of its key characteristics, as identifying a key ideational distinction in representations of the conflict with the NPA.
Separate studies reveal a similar discursive structure underpinning representations of the other long-running insurgency in the Philippines, concentrated in the south of the country by Moro groups, notably the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF); themselves the subject of declarations of all-out war by past presidents, but now on ceasefire as peace talks continue. Here, too, the key ideational distinction is to acknowledge background and context, locating underlying contradictions in the conflict in issues of social justice. In their history of the Mindanao conflict, Vitug and Gloria (2000, 112) comment that
Underneath this Islamic veneer is the stark reality that fuels the Muslim rebellion in Mindanao: economic and social exclusion… Ordinary people… join the MILF driven by need. They turn to violence for a solution to their economic and social problems.
Content Analysis
Lynch’s 2008 study supports earlier findings, such as by Lee and Maslog (2005), that found that reporting in the PDI, and another newspaper, The Philippine Star, displayed significantly more peace journalism in coverage of the Moro insurgency than the average of a selection of leading newspapers covering equivalent internal conflicts in other Asian countries including India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, and Indonesia.
Peace journalism has, in addition, received a major boost in southern Philippines and elsewhere, through social movement activity and training initiatives. Since 2004, the Peace and Conflict Journalism Network (PECOJON) has grown to a number of national and international networks, with around 250 members in the Philippines and 165 members from fifteen countries worldwide (Patindol 2010). A number of other media organizations, such as MindaNews and the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism (PCIJ), follow similar values and framing to peace journalism.
Hence, MindaNews was chosen as the partner for the project and ABS-CBN chosen as a mainstream news organization to partner and produce the news bulletins used in this study. It meant working within the normal idiom and range of Filipino news. Various days of ABS-CBN output over the past few months were trawled through to select five recent stories that could be classified as war journalism. As they were, they would score round about one to zero on five headings: background, view, idea, prop, and peace (Shinar 2007, 200). Re-sourced, rewritten, revoiced, and repackaged as peace journalism would bring up the score to about three. Following Shinar, the following analysis explores how this was done to ensure that the stories qualified as peace journalism:
1. Exploring backgrounds and contexts of conflict formation, and presenting causes and options on every side so as to portray conflict in realistic terms, transparent to the audience (Background);
2. Giving voice to the views of all rival parties (Views);
3. Offering creative ideas for conflict resolution, development, peacemaking, and peacekeeping (Ideas);
4. Exposing lies, cover-tip attempts and culprits on all sides, and revealing excesses committed by, and suffering inflicted on, peoples of all parties (Propaganda); and
5. Paying attention to peace stories and postwar developments (Peace).
A story that includes material satisfying criteria under any one of Shinar’s (2007) five headings was allotted one point. One that includes all five scored five points. So each individual story was marked initially out of five. Following Lee and Maslog (2005), three indicators of “passive” peace journalism were then added—for the avoidance of emotive language, labeling of conflict parties as good and bad, and partisan reporting. To recognize the lesser importance of these indicators, compared with the main framing characteristics, each is allocated the score of 0.5, to be subtracted from the initial score. Scores for each media outlet can therefore be expressed as mean averages. Tables 1 and 2 offer the scores for each of the stories in the different research bulletins. A full explanation of the process of reframing follows.
Table 1. Scores of war 10UriltiliSill story versions on Shiner and Lee and Maslog criteria
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Table 2. Scores of peace journalism story versions on Shinar and Lee and Maslog criteria
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The Research Bulletins
NPA landmine story
We chose the NPA landmine incident as a fairly typical on-the-day episode of the conflict as reflected in mainstream news: an apparently isolated incident of violence. It involved two people being killed by a landmine planted by the NPA who targeted a military vehicle. In this case, however, the vehicle was carrying not only military personnel but also civilians who were being transported ‘to a so-called “peace rally'”.
The story scored -1.5 in Shinar’s headings (Table 1). The ABS-CBN report on the incident offered no significant material by way of background and context of the conflict. The only views reflected were those of the military themselves; there were no ideas for peace; no challenges to the propaganda, and no images of peace. The story lost half a point for emotive language and another half a point for being partisan by using military parlance to describe the NPA. The link from the presenter into the story begins with “Rebeldeng NPA,” which is not the term the NPA use to describe themselves but an official military designation. The script also referred to the people traveling in the military vehicle as returning from a “peace rally condemning the rebel NPA,” thus reproducing the propaganda claim that the military are attempting to bring “peace” by “defeating” the NPA.
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In the peace journalism version of the story, the studio presenter’s script referred to a bombing by the NPA, removing the military term “rebel” so the story was no longer partisan from the outset. The story subtly challenges the propaganda by neutralizing the description of the rally to make it clear it was “organized by the military to condemn the NPA,” thus registering a positive score under Propaganda.
There are lots of ideas for peace—first, by recalling to the viewers that peace talks with the NPA are about to resume in Oslo,’ but more importantly referring to main agenda idea of justice for the poor and dispossessed. This links neatly with background file pictures and reference to a recent demonstration that many people have opposed a planned gold and copper mining project in the region. Whilst scoring one for Background it also offers another idea for peace by reminding people that there are other ways to express their grievances.
The script makes a corner-turn (Lynch and McGoldrick 2005, 186) into challenging the war on terror propaganda head on by hearing from Amnesty International. The human rights organization meticulously researched the extra-judicial killings, with more than 600 people executed in a ten-year period. The Amnesty speaker made explicit reference to the Government’s exploitation of the war on terror rhetoric—rhetoric used to cloak the killing of any kind of left-wing activist opposed to the government by spuriously connecting them to the “terrorist” NPA. This element also serves to distance the story from siding with the military and the government.
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It also featured a broad range of views, including those of a Protestant Bishop and two Lumad (indigenous) leaders, shown in the photo above attending a civilian (not military) peace rally in Davao, and expressing their hopes for the peace talks to focus on underlying issues of social justice; as well as a senior representative of the NPA, Ka Oris, professing himself and the organization to be ready for dialogue. This peace journalism version would get a score of 4 under Shinar’s headings (see Table 2), still within the compass of Philippines journalism given the previous studies in content analysis.
The Flood Story
The second story in the bulletin was a recent flood in Davao del Sur on the outskirts of the city where three people were killed, including a baby and a teenager. The area had not flooded before, and there were rumors that recent development and illegal logging had caused the Sibulan River to overflow. Such stories potentially invoke another significant meaning structure transmitted from historical discursive analysis in the Philippine political context. Many of the poorest people rely on subsistence for food security, and their lifestyles therefore rely, in turn, on the integrity of life-sustaining systems of soil and water. Nettleton et al. (n.d.) show how inequitable economic development, including mining and plantations, profits corporations while expropriating vulnerable communities and compromising local environments; which can then feed indirectly into the insurgencies by prompting dispossessed or threatened people to make common cause with the rebel groups.
For the war journalism, an on-the-day situation report was chosen, which focused heavily on wailing relatives looking for loved ones and dramatic shots of the gushing waters, floating tree trunks, abandoned vehicles, and wrecked homes. The focus of the story was all about the drama of “now” and would score -0.5 (see Table 1) for having emotive language (and no material conforming to any of the peace journalism characteristics under Shinar’s headings).
The peace journalism version explored some of the background issues. The whole first half of the story remained the same then part way through came a corner-turn, with the words: “A natural disaster—but was it a man-made one, too?” Rumor had it that a newly built hydroelectric plant had disturbed the forest growth and water flow, adding to the destructive force of the river. The operating company, Hedcor, denied the allegations, explaining how engineers building the plant had secured the riverbanks, thus enhancing the water flow.
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A local farmer, interviewed for the peace journalism version, suggested other human activities, such as illegal logging, as a possible cause. Inevitably, the story touched on the global influence of climate change, perhaps making such extreme weather events more frequent and more severe in future, and a local research scientist offered an idea for a solution by suggesting that major companies developing projects in the area, such as the car firm Toyota, consider investing some of their future profits in sustainable, nonpolluting energy. Overall, this story scores 3 (see Table 2) for offering background, a broad range of views, and ideas for a solution.
MILF Breakaway Story
The third story was the latest development in the ongoing conflict for Muslim independence in Mindanao. While we imagined this to be a local story for people living in Davao, this was regarded as something happening over there in North Cotabato, a six-hour drive and what felt like a long way from Davao. We also had not appreciated the language difference between people in that region. The story chosen was the creation of an MILF splinter group, widely reported as a risk for peace, including on ABS-CBN: “The new group of Ustadz Amiril Umra Kato is a significant force that can challenge peace and stability in Mindanao,” said Rommel Banlaoi, executive director of the Philippine Institute for Peace, Violence and Terrorism Research, referring to the commander of the breakaway.
The war journalism story selected for inclusion in the bulletin w9s comparatively moderate in tone and would have scored zero (see Table 1). It talked a lot about the GRP-MILF peace process towards the end and suggestions that the ARMM elections should be postponed and a nonpolitical leader appointed as interim head of the autonomous region, to allow breathing space for key reforms. It was coded with a positive score for this under Ideas, but as these suggestions were only from one person—MILF vice chair for political affairs Ghadzali Jaafar—and he is a political figure who may have his own vested interest in such an outcome, the story only scores half a point for ideas.
The tone and language of the feature were not emotive, but it did lean towards being partisan in Jaafar’s favor: He appears seated in his -office and is described as calm, whereas Umra Kato is depicted in the jungle with long hair, wearing a headband and waving a gun, perhaps inviting viewers to infer that he and his band of breakaways are in some way deviant—perhaps mad—which also means it is partisan in favor
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of Jaafar and loses another half a point there. While we hear from both sides—Umra Kato and Jaafar—thus justifying a positive score under View, the score is only 0.5 because we do not hear from all sides.
To convert the MILF breakaway script to peace journalism and obtain a score of 3 (see Table 2), the background of the story was opened up, and interviews conducted with a group of villagers—”non-elite” sources, as described in Galtung’s table—to broaden the range of views away from those of military-political leaders. We visited a group of Muslims families who were initially forced to flee their homes more than a decade ago due to fighting between the government and the MILF forces. Even today, they explained, they could not return home because of successive rounds of fighting. They told a tragic tale of being poorer than before due to having no land to make a decent living and the fear for their children who had no proper school to attend. Their only hope, they said, was for peace, and the forthcoming talks in Malaysia between the MILF and the Government. By bringing them into the frame the story implied that for there to be a lasting solution, these people needed to be able to return to their homes and receive some form of economic justice as well as political reform.
The Davao Shooting Story
The fourth story, about a shooting in a mall, was presented as a new development in the story of the Maguindanao massacre of November 2009, in which sixty-one people were killed, many of them journalists. The journalists had been accompanying the relatives of a local politician, Buluan Vice Mayor Ishmael Mangudadatu, en route to file his candidacy in the election for Governor of Maguindanao Province, part of the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). Chief suspects in the massacre were members of the Ampatuan political clan, including the former governor, Andal Ampatuan, Sr. and his son, Andal Jr. who was standing in the election.
The new development occurred during a shopping trip to Davao by Mangudadatu and surviving members of his family. The story as broadcast on ABS-CBN told how a man approached the party in a busy local mall, and tried to seize a gun belonging to one of the Vice Mayor’s bodyguards, apparently to do them harm. The apparent would-be assailant was himself shot dead at the scene, and turned out to be one Tamano Kagi Camendan, who worked (or had worked; it is not entirely clear) as a bodyguard for the Ampatuans.
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Again, a brief critical discourse analysis is needed, to disclose possible intertextual influences on meaning-making by a Davao audience. As explained in reference to the previous story, Davao folk, whilst being well aware of the unresolved separatist conflict (or struggle for self-determination) being waged elsewhere on the island of Mindanao—along with conflicts within the Moro community, such as the political conflict in Maguindanao Province—are accustomed to. regarding such upheavals as remote from their own lives; both literally, as a long journey, and conceptually. The city is enclosed by a “ring of steel,” with an army detachment, Task Force Davao (TFD), manning checkpoints and prominently standing guard outside public and major private buildings to keep such troubles where they belong: outside. The city’s long-serving former Mayor, Rodrigo Duterte, forged a reputation as a stickler for law and order. By symbolically bringing an aspect of a “Moro conflict” to the heart of their city, this shooting incident, while seemingly isolated, had the capacity to invoke historically transmitted fears of the “Other.”
There was nothing in the story as broadcast on ABS- CBN to interrupt such an interpretation. Containing nothing by way of background and context, or any other material belonging to any of the five peace journalism categories above, it was coded with a score of -1.5 (see Table 1). The low score was firstly for emotive language and pictures, particularly those of the dead Camendan. The script also labels him as a “baddy” because the story makes him guilty even though there has been no trial. To have not labelled him, the script would have needed the word “suspect.” There are several eyewitnesses included who refer to Camendan as trying to grab the gun off Mangudadatu’s bodyguard. The story paints the latter, and his entourage, in a very favorable light, implying they are the “goodies” by referring to him being in the mall with his children and reporting, without considering alternatives or entering any caveats, the supposition that he was the target. Given that other eyewitnesses, (see focus group discussion analysis below) have suggested that it was the other way round, it is reasonable to suggest that the story deserves another 0.5 deduction for being partisan and siding with the Mangudadatus.
The peace journalism script, on the other hand, scores 3 (Table 2) because it explores the background culture of intimidation and corruption in the ARMM. It is not simply the killers who are baddies (a dispositional explanation), but the killings took place in the context of a deficient structure (a situational explanation), so the whole system needs reform. A lawyer representing families who lost loved ones in the Maguindanao massacre appears on camera, pointing out that even former president Gloria Arroyo may be implicated in a corrupt relationship with Ampatuan Sr. and therefore should also be arrested. Demonstrators on the streets of Davao offer ideas for a solution to the deficient structure by calling for forthcoming elections in the ARMM3 to be postponed, lest they occasion more trouble, pending root-and-branch reforms.
The Coal Plant Row Story
To end the bulletin, another regional environmental conflict was selected, this time over proposals for a new coal-fired power station in Davao. The original story was fairly neutral in tone, setting the local councilors in favor of the plant against the plant’s opponents in a typical bipolar way. The story would score 1.0, under Shinar’s five headings, primarily because it does hear from both sides (Table 1). By giving a voice to the campaign group No to Coal Coalition, however, it merits a score of 0.5 under Views. The script is not emotive, labelling, or partisan and even goes as far as being transparent about the trip by councilors to visit another similar coal plant in Cagayan de Oro in Northern Mindanao. By saying the trip is funded by the electricity company Aboitiz, which wants to build the new coal plant, the story scores 0.5 under Propaganda, not challenging propaganda but at least for not colluding with it.
The peace journalism version of the story scores 4 (Table 2) because it goes much further by linking the coal fired power station—burning hydrocarbons as a source of energy—with global warming; it hears from a broader range of views upping the score to 1 by hearing from both Aboitiz and an environmentalist (both speakers interviewed separately to add to the original material). New pictures are used of a functioning solar power plant in Cagayan de Oro City and the point is made that the councilors on the same fact-finding trip could have made a short detour to visit this plant. This is an Idea for a solution, which could also count as an image of Peace, since it could represent humankind in harmony with the environment, using renewable energy. Efforts were made to obtain an interview with a spokesperson for the company that runs the solar plant, but this proved unsuccessful; hence there is less elaboration on this aspect than might have been ideal, so it scores only half a point.
Methodology
The study used a mixed design of gathering qualitative and quantitative data from a variety of groups watching either the war journalism or the peace journalism bulletin. It was a blind study so nobody was informed of the type of the bulletin they were watching or of the existence of another version. The aim was to come at the research from several different angles, in other words, to triangulate (Denzin 1978, 304):
Researchers must be flexible in the evaluation of their methods. Every action in the field provides new definitions, suggests new strategies, and leads to continuous modifications of initial research designs. Like other forms of interaction, sociological research reflects the emergent, novel, and unpredictable features of ongoing activity; this is the fourth principle: no investigation should be viewed in a static fashion. Researchers must be ready to alter lines of action, change methods, reconceptualize problems, and even start over if necessary. They must continually evaluate their methods, assess the quality of the incoming data, and note the relevance of the data to theory.
The quantitative data collection involved ninety-nine psychology and engineering students (thirty-three men and sixty-six women) from the Ateneo de Davao University, who volunteered to participate in exchange for a gift of snacks. They were randomly assigned to two different rooms, and informed that they were taking part in a study about television news. Each participant received an identical nineteen-page questionnaire with several pretest measures. First, we chose to expand on three other studies about television news by using the State Trait Anxiety Inventory (STAI) (Szabo and Hopkinson 2007; Harrell 2000; and Johnston and Davey 1997).
Second, the Differential Emotional Scale (DES) (Izard 1977) was adapted to test for differences in emotional reaction between the groups before and after seeing each of the news stories. The DES was used successfully in other research about variantly charged television news (Unz et al. 2008). The DES is a thirty-item questionnaire consisting of ten fundamental emotions, each assessed by three items. The ten fundamental emotions used in this study were: interest, enjoyment, surprise, distress, items is anger, disgust, contempt, fear, empathy, and guilt. Each of the thirty items rated on a five-point Likert scale.
Why measure emotions? Significant in this context is evidence that group information is processed in emotional centers of the brain. “That is, group-related reasoning and perception may well be implicit, emotional:, and untouchable via traditional cognitive and rational approaches (Argo et al. 2009, 33) and that conflict resolution is an emotionally cued process (Long and Brecke 2003, 30). This holds profound implications for considerations of media influence on the actions and motivations of parties to conflict, whether direct or indirect, linear or extra-linear. It suggests we are more likely to find differential group responses to media representations of conflict through adjusting the more emotional, less explicit content, than the more cognitive, fact-based elements: revealing elements of context and background through telling a story based on human interest, perhaps.
To take the emotional measures required pausing the video at the end of each story for students to fill out their DES; which was immediately followed by a Thought-Listing Protocol (TLP), inviting them to simply write down any notes of thoughts or feelings prompted by what they were watching (Coleman and Thorson 2002). The aim was to elicit more information about the feelings people were having while watching the news—if they were feeling angry, why were they feeling angry?
Eight other questions were added after the TLP. Four of these were to assess the student’s acceptance and opinions of the different story framings: How interesting, how balanced, how boring, and how biased (Kempf 2007) did they see it? Four questions were used to assess their evaluation of military measures test (EMMT): would they be more predisposed to militaristic, violence-escalating solutions if they watched war journalism as opposed to peace journalism (Schaefer 2006)? Each of these eight questions is rated on a seven-point Likert scale.
After watching the bulletin there were a number of simple prejudice tests: Group warmth thermometers (Correll et al. 2008) to assess if watching war journalism or peace journalism contributed to greater warmth, with 0-50 representing cold feelings and 50 or above representing warmth or positive feelings (towards outgroups, such as Muslims and Communists). Peasbody sets’ were then used to assess the variability of judgments toward the different groups. We created eight sets, asking participants to place a cross in the box closest to the adjective that best describes Muslims, Christians, and Communists: good vs. evil; hardworking vs. lazy; trustworthy vs. dishonest; safe vs. dangerous; similar vs. different; familiar vs. strange; peaceful vs. warlike; and passive vs. aggressive.
Finally, ninety-seven students filled in their demographic details revealing a mean age of 18.8 ranging from seventeen to twenty-four years of age. There was a balance of men and women in each group with thirty-three women in both, seventeen men in the war group and sixteen men watching peace.
The focus groups were included as part of the mixed-methods approach to explore via qualitative data how interactions picked up in the quantitative data were actually resonating within meaning structures transmitted from historical discourses; and to offer a richer seam of anecdotes about the news. Following a major UK study about news on the Israel-Palestine conflict (Philo and Berry 2004) in which groups of different demographics were selected, we chose to run four focus groups, two with high-income participants and two with low-income participants, with each pair watching the alternative war and peace framings.
Focus group participants also filled in their demographic details plus a pre- and post-bulletin STAI, and the DES measures. They were also invited to jot down any thoughts on the TLP boxes partly as a way or assessing whether what they said in the group differed from what was wrote in private. Then they took part in a group discussion about the news bulletin that was recorded, transcribed, and analyzed as qualitative data.
Results
State Trait Anxiety Inventory and Differential Emotional Scale Consistent with previous television news studies, pre-and post-STAI measures increased significantly, but there was no statistically significant interaction between the groups. Basically, watching television news makes people stressed, but watching war journalism does not make them significantly more stressed than watching peace journalism. This is consistent with the results from an earlier study carried out in Sydney, part of this same research, using the same methods.
What does vary is the range of feelings people go through depending on which framing of the story they watched. Mixed-model ANOVAs with tests for simple effects and interactions were used to gauge differences in terms of emotional reaction between the groups. The two groups did not differ significantly in any of the baseline measures of the DES scales. Looking first at the uncondensed emotional responses to the NPA landmine story, the war journalism group showed slightly higher increase in anger compared with the baseline measures. The levels of happiness, delight, and amazement reported by members of the war journalism group dropped significantly more, compared with baseline, than that of the peace journalism group members. The peace journalism viewers’ feelings of empathy increased by twice as much as the war journalism viewers who were also less hopeful after watching the story, but the peace journalism group were significantly more hopeful. No other significant differences were found.
Table 3. DES results before and after viewing the NPA landmine story
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The numerical results beg the question of why the peace journalism viewers were more empathic, happy, delighted, amazed, and hopeful after watching the NPA story. What were those feelings about? That is where we turn to the TLPs below.
But first, it is worth considering the other statistically significant interactions between the groups. Table 4 below denotes figures for those effects, where the absence of a number means there were no significant differences for that particular emotion. Those who watched the war journalism flood story were less amazed than those who watched the peace journalism version, suggesting that a more emotive story produces less amazement. Such implies that people are switched off by its sensationalism.
The peace journalism viewers maintained their higher levels of delight throughout the bulletin despite beginning the test less delighted than the other group. War journalism viewers of the Davao shooting showed markedly higher levels of revulsion and distaste, as well as demonstrating more empathy and compassion.
Watching the MILF breakaway story triggered a stronger sense of personal responsibility and blame in those who watched the peace journalism framing, perhaps because the war journalism story only contained men with guns and the peace journalism story included ordinary people who had suffered and survived the fighting. Significantly, viewers of the peace journalism version showed much higher levels of empathy, which increased after watching each story, whereas empathy fell for the war journalism group, even if only slightly. Indeed, the peace journalism viewers consistently experienced stronger feelings of empathy throughout the bulletin than viewers of war journalism.
Table 4. Significant DES results before and after viewing
[Refer to the Original Copy]
Note: Means are shown on the first line, standard deviations on the second in brackets for each subscale.
Thought Listing Protocols
These quantitative results were treated as an interim artifact, alerting us where to pay attention to drill down in the data to investigate why the peace journalism viewers watching, say the NPA story, prompted greater delight, happiness, hope, empathy, and slightly less anger. What were these responses about?
The TLP written responses were transcribed and themed in categories based on Entman’s (1993, 51) characterization of cognitive steps involved in framing:
To frame is to select some aspects of a perceived reality and make them more salient in a communicating text, in such a way as to promote a particular problem definition, causal interpretation, moral evaluation, and/or treatment recommendation.
What the results show for all the stories was a pronounced difference in problem diagnosis/definition and solution/treatment recommendation between the groups, suggesting that the qualitative measures were more sensitive in picking the groups’ distinctive differences in reaction to each story. In other words, they could spot the differences without being asked to find them. This was most noticeable in responses to the NPA story. For most war journalism viewers, the NPA is the problem, whereas for many in the peace journalism group, there is a shared problem, as Table 5 shows.
Table 5. TLP problem definition results front the NPA landmine story
[Refer to the Original Copy]
While the numbers in themselves are interesting, it is the tone of the comments that speaks more. Members of the war journalism group refer to “hating” the NPA, who are “pests;” they are “crazy;” and three refer to feeling anger towards the “rebels.” One war viewer was able to stand back and comment on the framing itself, noticing that the “NPA is [being] blindly accused.”
The peace journalism viewers used a softer tone in blaming the NPA, primarily asking why referring to them “look(ing) a bit funny;” them being “harsh,” “annoying,” a “nuisance,” and “merciless.” The most dramatic difference is the high number of comments about a shared problem from those who watched the peace journalism story.
They diagnose a variety of aspects of a deficient structure: “injustice;” greed;” “land;” “unequal rights;” “labeling guerrillas as terrorists … only makes matters worse” and even the “system” as the problem.
Table 6. TLP moral evaluation results from viewing the NPA landmine story
[Refer to the Original Copy]
The tone of the outrage (Table 6) about the violence was again stronger in the war journalism group, with members saying they are “angered” by the violence and that it is “unlawful,” “terrible,” and “unfair,” whereas the peace journalism viewers say they are “sad” and “angry,” again offering a possible explanation for less anger on the DES measures. The real noticeable difference in the moral evaluation is concern for the NPA by those who watched peace journalism plus concern for indigenous peoples, both of which are totally absent in the war group. This could explain why the statistics showed a marked increase in empathy in the peace journalism group, compared with the war journalism audience, which is reflected in the greater concern for victims by the peace journalism group. Comments from the two groups are fairly similar in tone, feeling “pity,” “sorry,” and “sadness.” Interestingly, the peace journalism group mentioned empathy/sympathy eight times whereas the war journalism group only mentioned it four times.
As has been already suggested, this is perhaps because the NPA war journalism framing was more emotive such that this turned people off. Offering them a more causal explanation with reference to mining, poverty, and land rights reflected the appreciation of shared problems, allowing people into the story to engage empathically both with those killed and injured in this incident and with some of the underlying factors behind the attack. Some of the participants hinted at this in their moral evaluation of the war journalism version, saying: “Media doesn’t empathize;” “media sensationalize;” “should’ve interviewed a person who is less emotional;” and “victims are not ready for interview.” This clearly implies their distaste, or at least unease, at how emotive the story was.
Another notable difference is in the solutions or treatment recommendation, to use Entman’s (1993) terminology (Table 7).
Table 7. TLP treatment recommendation results after viewing the NPA landrnine story
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The war journalism group hardly discussed solutions at all, whereas the peace journalism group came up with a total of forty comments about solutions and they were predominantly creative and nonviolent. Both groups called for the same number of security solutions. The themes reflected the peace journalism framing. Firstly, around economic justice: “Equality of resources;” “land reform;” “preserve our natural resources;” and “economic justice.” Secondly, optimism about peace talks themselves: “active non-violence;” “hopeful for peace;” “hoping for unity” and were similar to the five comments of moral evaluation about the peace talks that valued hearing others concerned about peace: “good to know that even the NPA also aims to achieve peace” and “good to know that a lot of people still fight for peace.” Perhaps this is why the peace journalism group showed much stronger feelings of enjoyment and why their hope increased whilst still watching a story about an incident of violence. On the other hand, hope fell for the war viewers. In other words, peace journalism viewers are more optimistic about peace and think more creatively about ideas for solutions. While this sounds like an unchallenged endorsement of peace journalism, with one participant writing that “the news is more informative,” there were also one or two negative moral evaluations of the NPA story itself: “Bias: they blame it on the military” and “Military is seen as negative. It sided the NPA.”
Other data from TLPs also help to explain the affective differences between groups. First of all, why did the peace journalism group remain more amazed during the story about the floods in Santa Cruz? Were there any other differences in their responses? There certainly was greater concern for the victims in the peace journalism group than the war viewers, with thirty-seven comments from the latter to peace journalism’s fifty-five. This suggests a higher empathy quotient that was not picked up in the statistical results.
There were other notable differences in TLPs for the floods. Firstly, the peace journalism viewers wrote considerably more than the war group, suggesting they found it more engaging and thought provoking. Secondly, the peace group reflected more on problem definitions, offering twenty-seven comments suggesting the floods was at least partly a man made disaster, whereas only eight who watched the war journalism version thought that. As with the NPA story, there was a stronger emphasis on solutions from the peace journalism viewers, who made thirty-two different treatment recommendations as opposed to only eighteen from the war journalism group. Of these solutions the war journalism group predominantly wanted the “government to do something,” to “take action,” whereas the peace journalism viewers offered more detailed, creative, and specific recommendations.
Interestingly, both groups made a much greater number of comments about the news itself than they did in TLPs on other stories. The ten opinions on content from the war journalism viewers centered around the intrusiveness or emotive quality of the story, particularly in showing the grieving family members. Comments included: “Highly intrusive;” “like a violation;” “dead body should not have been shown;” and “disgusted [at] the sight of dead body.” This could have suggested that the participants would be more amazed by this story, yet they were more amazed by the peace journalism. Was this because they remained more amazed by the additional background, views, and ideas framed into the peace version of the story? Several of them referred specifically to those elements in their moral evaluation, calling the item: “balanced news;” “really clear and not biased;” “excellent;” “much more interesting;” “understand the other reason/alternatives why the flood … happened.” This was validated by the statistical results from the EMMT questions, which showed a significantly greater interest in the peace frame of the floods story (Table 8).
Table 8. Significant EMMT results for each story
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The peace journalism version of the MILF breakaway story elicited a greater sense of responsibility and personal blame. Their feelings of delight and empathy were higher when they watched this, compared with the war group. The TLPs showed a similar pattern in the variance of responses as those to the NPA story: namely war viewers blamed the rebels, this time the MILF and Umra Kato, more than the peace viewers, with twenty-five comments to fourteen, respectively. In addition, those war comments had a more demonizing tone: ” H at red;” “horrible;” “crazy;” and one call to “kill those rebels.”
It is noteworthy that the war journalism version of the Urn ra Kato breakaway group contained ideas about peace, and was awarded half a point for that element. This is reflected in the fifteen comments from war viewers versus almost double from the peace journalism group, who made twenty-eight points about peace as a solution. Almost the same number, twenty-nine, expressed hopeful opinions in their moral evaluations of the peace talks, which could explain their higher enjoyment of the story.
The greater empathy is alluded to in comments about the civilian victims of the war in the peace journalism version, victims who do not appear in the war journalism version. There are twenty-two opinions about them, not only expressing empathy, but also a sense of blame and responsibility: “I feel ashamed for myself because I have something but they have nothing;” “I empathize with the affected families;” and “I feel bad about the affected civilians.” There was also a divergence in the number of comments about Umra Kato himself: Fifty-nine from the peace group and forty from the war viewers. The tone is fairly similar between the groups: some expressing anger, confusion, and concern for children seen holding guns. This is not surprising as the footage and script for this section of the story are identical in both versions. Finally peace viewers offered praise for their version with several calling it “informative” and “balanced.” The war viewers on the other hand criticized the story saying it was “too long” and “boring.”
The Davao shooting story produced stronger differences in feelings of revulsion and distaste, with the peace journalism group feeling the most—but at the same time, also feeling more delight, compassion, and empathy. Why? Both groups wrote relatively equal moral outrage about the violence, expressing their shock and fear about the shooting happening in “their” mall: “My morn goes there regularly to shop.” But the peace viewers were the only ones to express outrage about the “background event,” the Maguindanao massacre itself. Remember this background was not brought into the war journalism version, so it makes sense that peace viewers would express opinions, feeling “angry” and “alarmed” by the “horrible” massacre. This appears to have fueled their revulsion and distaste as this was the only story where the peace journalism group blamed individuals more than the war journalism group, with twenty-two pointing a finger at the families, and only eleven war viewers said the Ampatuans and Mangudadatus were the problem. The comments were stronger, with the peace viewers expressing more “hate.”
Consistent with the other stories though, the peace journalism group offered almost three times the number of solutions than offered by the war journalism group. Of the thirty-nine solutions from the peace group, eight called for a reform of the political system as well as improvements in security and calls for justice. The war journalism group gave fourteen solutions that were primarily about tighter security. It is worth noting that the EMMT responses demonstrated that the peace version was less biased than the war version (Table 8). There were double the number of opinions about the peace story content, with several praising the news for showing “what’s true” and “blurred the dead body, it’s better.” The war journalism viewers on the other hand named the “sensationalism,” describing the news as “careless coverage” particularly for showing the dead body.
The coal plant row left the peace journalism group feeling more responsible, delighted, and empathic. As with the NPA story, the peace journalism story was coded with the higher score of 4, but the war journalism coal plant row was starting from a higher baseline than some of the others, scoring 1 for including some wider views and challenges to propaganda. Less pronounced differences could therefore have been anticipated, compared with the differential responses to the other stories.
The moral evaluation of the coal plant is fairly similar between the two groups, with almost equally small numbers professing agreement with the building of the plant (seven for it in the war journalism group; seven for it in the peace journalism group) and similarly large numbers in each group opposing it (thirty-two opposed to the coal plant in the war journalism group; thirty-nine opposed in the peace journalism group). The biggest difference again, though less significant than with previous stories, was the number of solution comments, with thirty-four offered by the peace journalism viewers and twenty-two from the war journalism viewers. This could explain the greater degree of personal responsibility and empathy felt by the peace journalism viewers, who appear to engage more with it as a personal issue.
Both groups called for more information on the safety issues around the proposed plant, in particular the effect on public health in the area and along the transport routes the coal would follow. But there is a much stronger emphasis from the peace journalism viewers on suggestions for renewable energy like solar power, which is not surprising given that idea was framed into the story they saw, and not mentioned in the war journalism version. This was contradicted by the EMMT results (Table 8), which showed the war journalism viewers making a stronger call for renewable energy, but the peace journalism viewers finding the story less boring—which could explain theft higher enjoyment scores and stronger positive opinions of the peace journalism news: “Both sides were taken;” “meaning the effects of having a coal plant in our health made me change my mind;” and “interesting news.” Such comments hint at why the enjoyment scores were higher.
Cognitive and Emotional Impact of News Framing
To explore how far the different framings could be picked up in the four focus groups, the transcripts were coded like the news bulletins according to Shinar’s (2007) five headings: exploring backgrounds and contexts; giving a voice to the views of all rival parties; offering creative ideas for conflict resolution; challenging propaganda by going beyond the official versions of events; and by paying attention to peace stories. The three passive peace journalism indicators (Lee and Maslog 2005)—avoidance of emotive language, labeling of conflict parties as good and bad, and partisan reporting—were added as heading guides to theme the focus group comments. Primarily, the war journalism viewers talked about what was absent from the stories, whereas the peace journalism group spoke more about what was present, noticing the new elements of background, views, ideas, and challenges to propaganda.
The strongest statements came from the high-income focus groups. To illuminate those differences, the comments are presented according to their heading rather than the story, although during the focus groups they discussed the bulletin story by story.
Background
The peace journalism viewers had the immediate reaction of considering the news to be “very complete… like we can get the whole story,” in the words of one high-income participant. Another called it “informative.” The war journalism viewers, on the other hand, spoke most about what was missing from the bulletin: “I did feel there was something lacking” and “there’s always something missing.” They also pointed out that there wasn’t enough explanation in the stories: “Why is this flood going on?” and “Why do we need the coal plant?” One high-income participant felt so misinformed by the news at the time about the Davao shooting that she visited the mall herself to investigate:
A lot of people said that what the news presented was not really correct. They said it was Mangudadatu who really started the shooting, and there was this innocent guy who passed by who just so happened … [to be] connected to Ampatuan. It has … a flip side of the story to make it appear as dies a loyal bodyguard of Ampatuan who wanted to kill Mangudadatu and all that. So in some ways I was looking for that in the news …, but it was not presented.
Views
There was a unanimous response from the peace journalism group that the bulletin was “balanced,” appreciating in particular the views of the head of the NPA Ka Oris:
… [it is] only now I saw the real explanation … [from] the head of the NPA and listen[ed] to him and both sides represented; [it’s] not like when you listen to the discussion on … television, it’s cut and… [you] don’t know the vision of the leader.
The war journalism viewers were quick to retort the opposite, referring to the absence of an NPA voice: “It’s another side of the story that hasn’t been presented.” A similar opinion commented about a lack of views: “There are like two sides to every story or sometime three or four or five sides, so something is missing.”
Propaganda
Reference to propaganda was fairly similar between the groups. Those watching the war journalism version felt the MILF and the Umra Kato breakaway group were “ego tripping” and that the story was essentially a propaganda “show of power.” The latter was echoed by a peace viewer: “Breakaway, breakaway, breakaway. and it breaks… another breakaway, it will not… are they still serious [about] peace or what? Because it seems like they are playing with the people.”
Ideas
Immediately after watching the war journalism bulletin, viewers expressed a great deal of frustration about a lack of ideas and solutions: “You get tired of hearing the same things again and again with no solutions.” These comments came spontaneously, not in response to a leading question: “I’m really saddened I cannot do anything about it,” one said. About the flood story, a woman reflected, “One thing missing is that they also did not say how we can help.” Another woman wanted more ideas for the electricity shortage in the coal plant row story: “Present some alternatives, and if not a coal plant, what other alternatives are there?”—as if calling for the very content that was included in the peace journalism version, but not in the war journalism version she saw. There were less strong statements from the peace journalism viewers, but after watching the flood story, one woman felt it prompted her to think about solutions: “It also highlights the need for cooperation in society.” The peace ideas in the MILF story left one man with a sense of “optimism,” but others felt more “hopelessness” about the peace process after watching the peace version.
Peace
No one specifically spoke about the need for peace stories and postwar developments other than the comments of pessimism about the peace talks not leading to successes in communities. “Peace negotiations done here in the Philippines do not yield any tangible results,” said one male peace journalism viewer. Even though there are some small-scale examples of such developments in pockets around Mindanao, these were not included in the research bulletins.
Emotive
The war journalism viewers specifically referred to the emotive tone of the bulletin: “What is being shown are gross in a way, they have to show [people] crying for a long time.” One participant said she was so fed up with the sensationalism of local news that she switched off altogether:
I stopped watching the news because it was all about killing, and I said I will now start reading the papers because the papers won’t show you anything because it was so … I think the problem here is they have these ratings game, and they want to make everything sensationalized. Eventually, you just switch off and stop watching the news.
One of the peace journalism viewers had a similar response: “It tends to blind me when it comes to the emotions of the victims.”
Label
The nondemonizing tone of the peace journalism bulletin was picked up by one man who first wrote in his TLP about the Davao shooting, “At least Islam was not blamed” then said to the group:
The MILF breakaway news and then the Davao shooting—what’s good with the news is that it was presented not in a way where Islam is put in a bad light… the idea that Islam is behind the violence was not really presented, it’s really issues of people who adhere to Islam not because of Islam but that they are violent.
This is almost the mirror opposite of a comment made by a war journalism viewer: “In the news they usually put the NPA there, the MILF in a very bad light.”
Partisan
The only comment about the partisanship of the war journalism bulletin was: “I feel when things happen to NPAs, they cry… human rights… but when things happen to the military, there’s no human rights, they are so one-sided.” A peace journalism viewer was concerned about the slightly nuanced partisanship towards the ordinary people in the floods story: “I thought the people were more credible than Hedcor itself because they were given more length [airtime] in their interview.”
So it is clear that watching a news bulletin, blind participants can clearly discern the primary distinctions between war journalism and peace journalism, without any prior knowledge of the discursive differences. These differences were not picked up by the lower-income focus groups to anything like the same extent. In the war journalism group, they talked about the need for more information and more solutions from the news, but when the other group received it in the peace journalism bulletin they were unable to recognize it in the same way the high-income participants had. There were clear language difficulties for these groups that had to be run through a translator, thus limiting the degree of sophistication of the discussion. But in the peace journalism group in particular, they were answering the questions from their own opinion about the issues, rather than in response to what they had seen, making it hard to assess what impact the bulletin had had.
The focus group participants also filled in TLPs and before and after STAI and DES measures, primarily to see if theft written comments matched their verbal comments in the group, as people can feel inhibited in a group setting to express their real opinions. The TLPs also serve as memory jogger for people to return to their spontaneous thoughts at the time. Quite often then in the focus groups, participants would begin a comment by saying “I wrote down…” As with the students’ TLPs, these were themed using Entman’s characterization of cognitive steps involved in framing namely: problem diagnosis, moral evaluation, and treatment recommendation.
As with the students the most significant differences came in the NPA story. While both groups saw the NPA as the problem, one war viewer felt “hatred” whereas one peace viewer felt “anger.” Only the peace viewers saw the military as the problem, or referred at all to shared problems. Equally, the peace viewers were the only ones to make a moral evaluation of the peace process, passing both negative and positive opinions about peace. Two war viewers did suggest peace talks as a solution even though this was not present in the story. War viewers focused their comments primarily, on concern for the “civilians caught in the crossfire.” So was the conclusion that those who watch peace journalism think more about cooperative solutions upheld in the focus groups? Yes, and again it is worth noting how they think about them. Peace viewers tended to be more hopeful and creative in their solutions particularly in the floods, MILF, and Davao shooting stories. Also, after watching the coal story, more peace viewers were against the plant than war viewers.
Limits of Research
With a total of 308 questions to answer, some students were clearly exhausted by the end, as some peace journalism viewers reflected in their TLPs: “I need more time;” “I wish to rewind the video;” and “I’m having a mental overload because I’m too alone, and no information from the video clip is sinking in.” It is worth noting that the peace group between them wrote a full ten pages more than the war group. Was that because they were different people or because they were watching different material? That again is hard .to conclude. While the students were writing quickly by hand in a second language, the majority of their comments were easy to read. At times though, the full meaning was hard to decipher as some were brief and misspelled, which impacts the reliability of the coding that was done.
The self-reporting emotional questionnaires (DES and STAI) have their limits too as people do not always know what they feel and/or use different adjectives in different ways. Whilst it is not surprising that the STAI results between the groups did not show differences in anxiety levels, it is interesting that DES did not demonstrate stronger interactions for individual emotions. There are issues of statistical reliability due to the number of questions and relatively small interactions.
For these reasons, future research could peer under the hood of the human mind, as perhaps as little as one percent of brain activity is conscious (McGilchrist 2010, 187) by using physiological measures, such as Heart Rate Variability and skin conductance measures to explore affect and empathy (Gomez et al. 2009; Lamm et al. 2008; Oliveira-Silva and Goncalves 2011; and Wallentin et al. 2011).
Conclusion
Peace journalism was a “going concern” in journalist training and in social movement activity for media reform long before it became a significant focus of scholarship. Peace journalism “made a leap from theory to practice,” Lee and Maslog (2005, 313) say, “without the benefit of research.” Since then, this gap has been filled, with a large proportion of published research taking the form of operationalizing the peace journalism model into sets of evaluative criteria for content analysis (see, notably, several contributions to Ross and Tehranian 2008).
The likely influence of peace journalism in specific settings, on audience perceptions and the framing of key issues in conflict, has largely remained a matter for conjecture, however. Kempf (2007) showed how responses by newspaper readers differed when exposed to “escalation” or “de-escalation-oriented framings” of reports on the conflict in former Yugoslavia. A study of reader responses to crime stories in a U.S. university (Thorson et al., 2003) showed greater receptiveness to “peaceful” policy prescriptions—when the stories were framed to include material about structural causes.
The significance of this research is that it confirms, for the first time, that framing television news reports of conflicts of different, kinds along the lines of war journalism and peace journalism, respectively, exerts an ideational effect, influencing how people make meaning from what they have seen. The strongest effect comes when viewers have the opportunity to consider backgrounds and contexts of violent incidents (whether the proximate act of violence is by direct human agency, such as the laying of a landmine, or natural, such as a destructive flood, that may have been exacerbated by human activity).
In such cases, peace journalism viewers become much more likely to volunteer, unprompted, and think about solutions to the problem highlighted. There is a further distinction to be made that peace journalism viewers offer predominantly more creative, nonviolent ideas for solutions. The elements of Galtung’s original peace journalism model—conflict-oriented, solution-oriented—begin to slot together. It also confirms Cohen’s (1963) aphorism that the media are successful not in telling us what to think, but what to think about.
The inclusion of testimony by people directly affected by a conflict—the farmers in the floodplain, the villagers who fled their homes, the Lumad leaders forced off their land—enables a strong response of empathy, which replaces an otherwise strong tendency to apportion “blame” to one party. This connects with a new interdisciplinary field of the science of empathy (Rifkin 2009; McGilchrist 2010; Baron-Cohen 2011; Vignemont and Si nger 2006; and Oliveira-Silva and Goncalves 2011). Empathy opens a new avenue for future peace journalism research. What do peace journalism viewers mean when they refer to empathy? Are they simply tuning into the emotions of “other” or do they also feel motivated to action with pro-social behavior (Thomas et al. 2009, 326)?
In his 600-page historical reflection on human consciousness, the social commentator Jeremy Rifkin (2009) uses empathy as a marker of civilization. British psychologist Simon Baron-Cohen (2011, 6) suggests we substitute the term “zero empathy” for “evil” as it offers more explanation. He suggests “empathy erosion” is made possible by turning the other into an object (Buber 1970). Such is the very core of war journalism, thanks to the key element of propaganda—namely that the propaganda efforts by various parties to conjure up political spectacles (Edelman 1988), built around psychological distancing from a demonized and/or mysterious ‘Other’ (the “rebels”‘ or “the wrath of nature”). So the “truth-oriented” (as opposed to “propaganda-oriented”) lobe of the peace journalism model fits in as well. It also fits with another dimension of empathy: that the more we understand and can take the perspective of the “Other,” the greater the chance of empathy (Oliveira-Silva and Goncalves 2011) and our greatest chance to tap an underutilized resource for peace (Baron-Cohen 2011, 183).
There are, moreover, indications that viewers prefer the peace journalism style of reporting and would like to see more. With the news they presently receive, there is a widespread perception that significant story elements are persistently missing, at least among viewers who have opportunities to think critically about it. The peace journalism versions of stories in the research material were carefully calibrated to be within reach for journalists working in Davao television newsrooms. There is some peace journalism in Philippines media, so there could be more. And if there were, it would have a significant impact on the perceptions of key conflict issues among readers and audiences.
Language, Power, and Defining the Filipino Soul
I had written a paper on the process that led Jesuits finally to adopt English as the medium of instruction in their schools, primarily the Ateneo de Manila and later the seminaries entrusted by the bishops to their care. For fear however that I might bore you with details on the intramural struggles regarding language among the Jesuits, I decided that probably the best way of drawing some fruit from my labors as a student of history is to do the following: First, to summarize in a concise way what I think are some data brought to light by historical research into this Jesuit process; second, to raise some questions about the relationship between language and identity given a particular reading of our context today; and third, to present a tentative framework regarding this relationship given today’s globalizing world.
Background on Jesuit educational work in the Philippines
The shift from Spanish to American sovereignty in the Philippines produced radical changes on various levels of life.’ These changes were all in the service of a policy of Americanization of Philippine society. The strict political demarcation of Church and State dictated by American constitutional principles spelled the demise of the patronato real as the legal-canonical arrangement governing Church-State relations during the Spanish regime.’ This meant that public funds could no longer be used for Church-based and Church-sponsored activities. Thus in the realm of education for example, the Church had to fend for itself. Where the Jesuits were concerned, the Eskwela Normal Superior had to cease operations as a state-financed teacher-training institute and the Ateneo municipal de Manila had to drop its appellation of “municipal” and transform itself into a private school.
The American regime drew up a plan for a public school system to replace the one systematically instituted under the Spaniards in the 1860s. The plan covered the whole range of education, from the primary to the university level. Implementation of this plan involved the use of English as medium of instruction. Though Spanish continued to be used in government, particularly in court proceedings, the trend clearly was toward supplanting the language of Calderon with the language of Shakespeare. Much better able to adapt to and live under this radically changed situation were the new religious congregations invited to work in the country. In the first decade of the twentieth century alone, Irish Redemptorists, Dutch Mill Hill Missionaries, Belgian Congregation of the Immaculate Heart of Mary (CICM) Fathers, Dutch Sacred Heart Fathers, and the German Divine Word Missionaries (SVD) entered the country and in time would spread out to the rest of the archipelago. Women religious congregations predated and accompanied these men religious congregations. Aside from the contemplative nuns of Santa Clara, the Beaterio de Santa Catalina, the Beaterio de la Compania de Jesus (which would become the Religious of the Virgin Mary or RVM Sisters), and, somewhat later, the Recoleto-directed Beaterio would become active in the educational apostolate. Joining them were the new European women congregations: The Daughters of Charity in 1862, the Augustinian Sisters in 1883, and the French Assumption Sisters in 1892. During the American regime, the following arrived in the Philippines: The St. Paul de Chartres Sisters in 1904, the Benedictine Sisters in 1906, the Immaculate Heart of Mary (ICM) Sisters in 1910, the Holy Spirit Sisters, the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, and the Good Shepherd Sisters in 1912.
Church-related educational institutions connected to the older religious orders for men would take quite some time to adopt English as medium of instruction. The Ateneo de Manila would do so definitively only in 1921 and the University of Santo Tomas in 1923. Various reasons could be given for this delay: Some reasons were due to the internal conditions in which the religious orders found themselves; other reasons were due to a lingering doubt with regard to American political intentions in the Philippines, at least until the middle of the second decade of the twentieth century when the passing of the Jones Bill clarified American intentions.
Briefly, the questions then in people’s minds had to do with the duration of American colonial rule. Was independence imminent? Was it to be long in coming? If so, how long? If the Americans were to give up the Philippines in a few years, say in five to ten years, would it make sense for Church-based educational institutions to shift to English? I make the claim that these questions had pragmatic import. Spanish had been the lingra franca of the islands for three centuries; English for merely a decade. If the Americans were to leave, would English then survive? The Americans of course would stay on for more than three decades, but this was hardly obvious in the first half of the second decade of American colonial rule in the Philippines. Besides, Filipino elite rhetoric then was full of agitation for independence at the earliest possible time. The decision to shift from Spanish to English as medium of instruction in the schools was first and foremost a political issue tied to colonial rule.
In general, it must be noted that the Catholic Church that survived the Philippine Revolution, the Spanish-American War, and the Filipino-American War was a beleaguered Church, assailed on all sides by various threats, both real and imaginary. Real however were the following: First, there was the challenge posed by an aggressively proselytizing and logistically superior Protestantism making its new presence absolutely felt in the country. Second, there was the schism initiated by Gregorio Aglipay and companions; the Iglesia Filipina Independiente claimed at least a fourth of the Catholic population as its membership in the first few decades of the twentieth century. Third, there was the enmity of anti-clerical and anti-Catholic elements, mostly members of the Filipino elite, who were out politically and socially to discredit the Church and to exploit its weakened public position.
Specific observations regarding Jesuit educational work
The Jesuits were royally expelled from Spain and all Spanish dominions in 1767. The Jesuits of the Philippines received their marching orders in 1768 and, in the next two years, they were shipped in several groups to exile in the Papal States in Italy. In a papal bull, Pope Clement XIV would then suppress the Society of Jesus in 1773. Restored worldwide by a papal fiat of Pope Pius VII in 1814, the Spanish Jesuits returned to the Philippines in 1859 after almost a century of absence. Their primary mission was the evangelization of Mindanao, then targeted by the Spanish colonial regime for economic development and political consolidation. By the end of the nineteenth century, the Spanish Jesuits who composed the Philippine Mission of the Province of Aragon had charge of the whole island of Mindanao, except for a few places still under the Augustinian Recollects and those given to the Benedictine order. They also had two schools in Manila, the Ateneo municipal de Manila and the Escuela Normal Superior. A source of pride was the Observatorio de Manila.
At least initially, the Spanish Jesuits were in principle not opposed to the adoption of English as medium of instruction in their schools. There is a charming picture of Spanish Jesuits gathered in the courtyard of the Ateneo municipal de Manila in 1899; they are portrayed as going . through a crash course on the English language. It is difficult not to see in this exercise a refreshing optimism about the future. In fact, Father-Francisco Javier Simo, one of the Jesuit professors at the Ateneo, was commissioned by his superiors to write a textbook on English grammar in 1900. The book was never published, much to the consternation of its author, who began to suspect that superiors had changed their attitudes toward the English language. However, due to problems of teaching staff and lack of expertise, the Spanish Jesuits never did feel equipped to make the shift from Spanish to English. True nonetheless was a lingering nostalgia for the Spanish past, an ironclad but ultimately reductionist identification between the Catholic faith and the Spanish language, and an emotional attachment to their own national identity.
After the shift of sovereignty from Spanish to American hands, a sprinkling of American Jesuits would find their way to the Philippines. Their primary task was to help the Philippine Mission in its dealings with organs of the American colonial regime. Initially, they were also supposed to minister to the pastoral needs of American Catholics in Manila. Some of them would help out in the Manila Observatory, one of only two Jesuit works that the American colonial regime financed.’ The presence of these American Jesuits was ad hoc in nature; however, it was becoming clearer by the year that the Spanish Jesuits, after it became apparent that American colonial presence was going to continue indefinitely, could no longer respond to the situation.
To make a rather long and complex story short, the Jesuit Superior General in Rome, Father Wlodzimierz Ledochowski, decreed a change: Spanish Jesuits of the Philippine Mission were to move to the Bombay Mission to take over the work of the German Jesuits who had been expelled from India by the British during World War I. American Jesuits of the Maryland-New York Province were to take over the Philippine Mission from the Spanish Jesuits of the Aragon Province. The first big group of American Jesuits arrived in 1921. They were given the Ateneo de Manila and the Colegio-Seminario de Vigan to run. This Year marked the official change of Spanish to English as medium of instruction. In 1926, the American Jesuits took official and definitive control of the Philippine Mission when the first American Jesuit in the person of James Carlin, then Rector of the Ateneo de Manila, was named Mission Superior. In general, it must be said that the American Jesuits were as committed as any other American in the Philippines to the process of Americanization that the American colonial regime had set for the Archipelago.
When Horacio de la Costa was still a Jesuit scholastic in his early twenties, he wrote a book on the history of the Jesuits in the Philippines from 1859 to the decade just before World War I. The book Light Cavalry, a delightful read even if already somewhat dated, takes pains to show that the Spanish Jesuits did all that was possible to them to teach English to their students. He quotes at length the Spanish Jesuit Father Juan Villalonga’s instructions on the teaching of English from the elementary grades to high school. Nevertheless, he also says that the use of English as medium of instruction would find its effective place only when the American Jesuits finally arrived to take over the Ateneo dc Manila.
In time, the American Jesuits would also set up schools in various places in the Philippines, schools that, in the course of time, would evolve into the four Jesuit universities in Mindanao and the Bicol region today. Two other Jesuit schools, the Ateneo de Tuguegarao and the Ateneo de San Pablo, would not prosper because of difficulties experienced with the ecclesiastical authorities in those places during their incumbency.
When Filipino Jesuits took over the Philippine Province of the Society of Jesus in the post-World War II period, the various Jesuit Ateneos remained committed to English as medium of instruction. Nevertheless, in the 1960s and 1970s, a reawakened nationalist consciousness among students and faculty called for the Filipinization of education. We cannot go into the details of this quite recent phenomenon. Suffice it to say that, at least in the Ateneo de Manila, the move to Filipinization took place in the area of the Humanities. Two exemplars of this move come to mind: Now deceased national artist Rolando Tinio in the Pilipino Department and the Jesuit Roque Ferriols in Philosophy.
Today, English continues to be the primary medium of instruction in all Jesuit educational institutions. In a globalizing world, the call has been for the strengthening of this commitment to English. In the institution where I teach, the Loyola School of Theology, plans are being drawn for making the school the center of theological education for Jesuit scholastics coming from the diverse regions of East Asia and Oceania. Already we have scholastics from as .far as Sri Lanka studying with us. In the near future, Jesuit scholastics from as diverse countries in Asia as East Timor, Myanmar, Vietnam, and South Korea will be coming to our part of the world to study theology. Only one language is deemed necessary and useful for this enterprise: The English language.
Language and identity: Some questions
In my reading of historical texts about the shift from Spanish to English as medium of instruction in Jesuit schools, one inescapable question continues to play in my mind: What view of language was consciously or unconsciously operative in all the discussions and debates about shifting from one to the other language? A preliminary answer given by an analysis of the sources is that language was fundamentally construed as an instrument of what Glenn May (1980) terms as social engineering. Perhaps a better term would be cultural engineering given that the Americanization process was concerned to change not only the political, economic, and social structures, but also the cultural values deemed necessary to underpin those structures. In any case, the question remains relevant today: What view of language is operative in our promotion of English today?
How effective has been this instrumental view of language in the social and cultural engineering of our history? In his book Amon and rerobaion. Rey Ileto (1979) describes the differences in the perception of the revolution by two groups of Filipinos: The Spanish-educated and Spanish-speaking ilustrados like Rizal and the Tagalog masses whose worldview was shaped by the Tagalog pillion texts of that time. The dissonance in the reading and interpretation of the signs of the times between the elite and the masses has its contemporary analogues. The most obvious example I can give now for this contemporary dissonance is our estimation of the Erap presidency.
If this view of language as an instrument of social and cultural engineering is what is operative then and now, what are its implications for the development of a Filipino identity? In a post-Wittgensteinian and post-Heideggerian age, when language is viewed not so much as instrument but as the “house of being,” as defining who we are and as constitutive of living in a world, could English (or Spanish or any other foreign language for that matter) carry the burden of defining the Filipino soul, of explicating Filipino identity? Can the English language understood as instrument be transformed into a language as an authentic matrix of Filipino meanings and values? Or arc we cast into a dramatic performance in which, depending on the role to be played, we are called at one point to use one language for some pragmatic purpose and then called at another point just to be, to live, to exist in the other language? Is it possible to live in a world that is constantly in need of being translated from one language to the other? Vicente Rafael (1993), in his book Contracting colonialism, deconstructs conventional readings of Philippine history and weaves a tale of constant negotiations of our identity through linguistic strategies of evasion and domestication of what is foreign. Or do we now have Filipinos for whom English has in fact ceased to be an instrument but has become a matrix of meanings and values for their own lives?
The American Jesuits shifted to English as medium of instruction in all their Ateneo schools in the Philippines. English was of course their own world-constituting language. They lived in the world made possible by that language and by the traditions it carried. Filipinos learned the English language however as an instrument, and as such it required a constant negotiation of their identity through translation. Could it be that the never-ending translations Filipinos had to engage in have produced some changes in that same identity? What does it mean therefore for a Filipino to live in a constantly translated world? Could the pathologies of the national character be attributed precisely to the ever-shifting linguistic grounds on which we are required to stand?
A reflection on how language locates Filipino identity today
It seems to me that it is becoming more and more typical of Filipinos to be multilingual. I speak Taosug whenever I find myself among family members in Zamboanga. In my religious community at Loyola I louse of Studies, I converse in Tagalog. And every Sunday when I have to preside at mass in NIontalban or Pansol or Our Lady of Fatima Parish in Mandaluyong, I deliver my homily also in Tagalog. But when 1 email foreign-born friends abroad, I use English or Italian. I have cousins whose mother tongue is the Samal language. I have other cousins whose primary language is Cebuano or Ilocano.
Whatever the conditions of relative isolation in which our ancestors found themselves in pre-Hispanic Philippine society, the situation of the Filipino today is markedly different. Born into one language, she is called to learn Filpino or Tagalog at a young age. By the time she is done \yid’ elementary schooling, our young Filipino speaks two or three languages at the very least: Her mother tongue, Tagalog, and English, in various degrees of skill and proficiency. If, at some point in her young life she finds herself working abroad in a non-English speaking country, a fourth language very often now forms part of her linguistic repertoire. I spent eight years of studies in Rome. There, some of our Filipino migrant workers have come to speak fluent Italian. It is easy enough to imagine many of our fellow Filipinos working in other countries speaking Arab, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Spanish, German, French, among others.
Who then is the Filipino today? Perhaps it might be helpful to pore that Filipino identity is implicated in three worlds. First, there is the world of her birth and childhood, the world of family and relatives, the world of her local community. Second, there is the world of %viral Benedict Anderson (1991) calls her imagined national community, she is heir to a common history that tells her she is Filipino. Third, there is the international community; it could be that, at some point in her life, she finds herself working in some country having to speak a foreign language. The fact that she speaks English is very often touted to be a plus, and therefore an advantage for her. If it happens that she gets employed in a call center in Eastwood in Quezon City or some such place, she will most probably be speaking in English.
At least three worlds therefore: The local, the national, and the international. In every world, she speaks a language. The three worlds are not of course clearly demarcated among themselves. It could be that the sense of belonging to a national community remains the least developed in her. The Filipino does not seem to possess the same attachment to the Filipino language as the Japanese is to hers, or the Korean, or the Vietnamese.
What implications are there therefore for Filipino national identity when she has to live in three worlds and express herself in, through, and across three different languages? Could it be that social injustice in our time must also mean being reduced to speaking one and only one language? Could it be that poverty in our time means the absence of any opportunity to speak one or two other languages than one’s own mother tongue?