It’s one of those curious cases that even CSI would have trouble figuring out: Why do we hear from the National Historical Institute only right after a Manny Pacquiao fight?
The good people at the NHI, as authorized guardians of our historical heritage, say that Arnel Pineda’s slow, Journey-influenced rendition of “Lupang Hinirang” before the crowd of 50,000 at Cowboys Stadium in Texas (and millions more watching through HBO pay-per-view, as that ring announcer would say) did not hew to the legal requirements of the public singing of the anthem. They made similar announcements when Martin Nievera sang his own rococo, karaoke-inspired version of the tune and also when other people did the honors before that.
Nievera wasn’t fined or sent to jail for the offense, as the NHI says he should have been. As far as we know, no one has ever been punished for singing the anthem in a way that varies from the “original Pilipino lyrics and march tempo” prescribed by Republic Act 8491, the law which lays down the rules about showing respect for the flag and other national symbols like the anthem.
Nobody really pays any mind to these occasional outbursts of misplaced patriotism from the NHI, and you can’t fault anyone for not caring. It’s just one of those things that people note every time Pacquiao fights someone in the ring, like the lack of traffic and the dip in the crime rate.
It’s merely unfortunate that an agency which has such an important mandate like preserving our history feels it must somehow join the craziness that a Pacquiao fight generates. If the NHI were really doing its job, it would be working to identify and restore our decaying physical landmarks, especially those that now seem to exist only in old photographs such as those in the collection of visual artist Dario Noche.
If the historical guardians of the United States—a country where they take the job of preserving their history and culture very seriously—don’t really mind when R&B singers and rap artists mangle the “Star-Spangled Banner” at prizefights and other sporting events, how can our NHI take umbrage every time some Filipino veers away one tiny bit from the way “Lupang Hinirang” is supposed to be sung at these same events? If our NHI people had been in charge of safeguarding in the American national anthem, they’d probably be going after the Cowboys cheerleaders who sang Scott Key’s tune in short shorts and with their cleavages showing, if not because of their old-fashioned Carter Family-style harmonizing.
At best, the NHI’s efforts just seem like a case of a well-meaning government office that is just doing its job by painstakingly sticking to the letter of the law. At worst, it sounds like the people at the agency just have too much time on their hands and are shamelessly trying to score some “pogi points” and free publicity by jumping on the Pacquiao bandwagon.
My advice to these people is to take the next available plane to Accra, the hometown of Joshua Clottey. Maybe they can lecture the Ghanaians on the virtue of having a national anthem in their own language, so their singers don’t have to sing a tune with English lyrics in it in front of millions of people watching around the world.
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Speaking of free publicity, perhaps someone should ask presidential sister-in-waiting Kris Aquino how she manages to turn everything that happens to her into an endorsement of her brother’s candidacy. That’s exactly what Kris did on her show last Sunday in a tear-stained, 10-minute State of the Showbiz Nation Address that was—thankfully—almost totally drowned out by the roar of Pacquiao’s fists.
I watched Kris’ impassioned plea for her brother (“who is not an artista,” as Kris reminds us, just a presidential candidate) on YouTube only because I got word that Cory’s showbiz-struck daughter had let loose with a torrent of tears in response to criticism of her actions as a result of her much-publicized media cat-fight with fellow actress Ruffa Gutierrez and Ruffa’s mom, Annabelle Rama. I wanted to know if I would be moved by Kris’ pleas to leave Noynoy Aquino out of her tabloid-headline life, having noted last week how she had been doing everything in her immense power (with the tacit approval of the owners of the powerful network she works for) to get him elected.
It may have been the performance of her life, but it left me underwhelmed—and not simply because I had a nagging feeling that one of Kris’ objectives was to prove that she could turn on the waterworks as readily as Ruffa. And that, if Kris is really as truthful as she claims to be, she’d admit that she was merely using her program (for the umpteenth time) to boost her brother’s chances of winning.
As one blogger noted, it was “as if the Aquino siblings had a severe publicity shortage,” prompting Kris to take “almost 10 minutes of valuable airtime to rectify that problem.”
“It was just another way of milking ABS-CBN for the all the free media mileage the Aquinos can get,” the blogger pointed out. “Methinks the Comelec should count this towards Noynoy’s allotment.”
Kris went on and on about her family being good people and about how her brother suffers every time she gets into trouble, since he had promised their late mom to take care of them. Then she muses about how this would not have happened if her mom were alive, conveniently forgetting that Noynoy has also promised Cory that he wouldn’t aspire to the presidency, either.
At least Kris and I have found something we can agree on: It’s just two months until the elections. After that, whatever the result, we will probably not hear Kris Aquino shamelessly using every opportunity she gets to campaign for her brother anymore.
But maybe that’s just wishful thinking, because if Aquino becomes president, it can be terrifying to contemplate what role Kris will play. Given that Kris is so into this Aquino “family” thing, it’s impossible to believe that she will, as she promises, simply go away.
But that’s what we get when we elect presidents in this country—we also get the entire family, the courtiers, the hangers-on, the shadowy powers-behind-the-throne, the favored military officers, business moguls and contractors. It’s not unlike getting Kris and trying to keep Boy Abunda, James Yap and Baby James out.
This is why Kris’ appeal for an exemption for Noynoy whenever she her fragile artista’s ego gets thrown under the bus every so often rings false: If she insists that she does what she does (like campaigning for her brother on and off the air) because she is a part of her family, she cannot decide when people think she is acting on her own or in the service of the Cojuangco-Aquino clan.
That’s like saying that the New York Times is unfair for running a story on Hacienda Luisita, as it did yesterday, because Noynoy only personally owns a fraction of the family corporation that runs that bloodstained land. If the NYT claims that Noynoy lied when he offered to distribute the land to the tillers eventually (because a family member in charge of the hacienda says that will never happen), then it’s a legitimate story.
But, as Kris tells us tearfully, their family never lies. The farmers who have been promised the land in Luisita by three generations of that same family may have another opinion—and none of Kris’ tears will ever convince them to see it her way.
