If, you, do, not, speak, for, us

Another media practitioner has been gunned down.

I don’t easily break into a white rage. What I conjured up in my mind was someone, or maybe myself, mounting a podium in slo-mo then mouthing Sophocles: ``Who is the slayer, who the victim?’’

And the adrenaline having risen, to declare with Kennedyesque pathos: ``If, you, do, not, speak, for, us, you, are, killing, us. And, also, yourselves.’’

That was just my mind trying to tame the anger that was surging. All I wanted to say in street-corner language was an exploding, ``BS to you all who did this, and may you be cursed even in the afterlife.’’ But then one didn’t say such things, even silently in one’s heart, while Christendom was commemorating the passion of Jesus and his rising from the dead.

Come to think of it, besides ourselves, who is speaking up for the journalists? Who are the individuals, what are the groups and institutions out there that will come to our defense? By speaking, I mean doing something concrete and reaping results.



The government, the church and religious communities, civil society, entertainment and sports celebrities, vendors, jeepney drivers, environmentalists, the Girl Scouts and the Boy Scouts, students, battered women, abused children, drug dependents, rape and kidnap victims, the literati and the culturati, readers and listeners, prostitutes, the urban poor, the rural poor, the indigenous people, intellectuals, professionals?

Who? Who in our address book, cell phone directory and email list? Perhaps no one? The bleakest, self-pitying thought was in my mind when I learned that one more media practitioner/whistleblower was gunned down last Holy Thursday.

No one. Else why does the killing not stop?

Marlene Garcia-Esperat, 45, was murdered on the night of Holy Thursday. So much like ``On the night he was betrayed…’’ of the Holy Thursday scenario, only this was Tacurong, Sultan Kudarat. Esperat was shot in the face in front of her two sons. Her husband heard the shot.

While working as a chemist at the Department of Agriculture, Esperat uncovered a lot of anomalies and kept exposing them for several years until she left in exasperation. She turned media practitioner and filed cases of corruption with the Ombudsman. She just knew too much. (Full story in the March 29 Inquirer.)

Esperat was the fourth media practitioner killed this year, the 17th since last year. If you consider the more than 60 or so killed since 1986, 17 deaths in the past year and three months is too many. In fact, the Philippines has been declared the second most dangerous place for journalists, next to Iraq. The Philippines as ``killing fields’’ for journalists was featured in the March 21 issue of Time magazine. Three pages were devoted to this dishonorable reputation.

Here it’s not stray bullets and bombs that kill, it’s bullets with the journalists’ name on them. And corruption in high places has a lot to do with the killings. C,o,r,r,u,p,t,i,o,n. Try and give that word a look by using the diacritical marks and the frownies found in your cell phone. You could do a few things with the letter U. I didn’t say, press SEND.

The motive for killing a whistleblower or a journalist is to silence. Revenge is more of an afterthought. Surely there were journalists who had been sucked into the dark side and left their integrity at home and later paid dearly for their indiscretions. An extortionist masquerading as a journalist, no matter how subtly, knows the law of the jungle and will have his comeuppance.

But journalists who do their job well are not a vanishing species. Alas, they are endangered.

Long before Esperat became a media practitioner, that is, as a columnist for a the Midland Review in Mindanao, she was already an irrepressible whistleblower in the government bureaucracy. She had the goods, the figures, the names. She was even featured in the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism’s i-magazine as ``Madame Witness.’’

How often have ordinary citizens approached journalists with ``inside goods’’, meaning the rot in the government bureaucracy, be it health, public works, education, defense, justice, and in the case of Esperat, agriculture which is synonymous with food. Almost always, the squealers or sources want to remain unknown. They are afraid for their lives. This is understandable.

What puzzles me is their seeming presumption that journalists are not afraid and are ready to be murdered, ready to leave their families and orphaned children grieving.

You don’t want to be identified? I asked someone gently. What about me, ako ang mapapatay dito (I’ll be the one killed here).

A press release from the office of Senator Mar Roxas says that the senate committee on public information and mass media will look into the finding of the International Federation of Journalists on the Philippines’ as killing fields. This was after Roxas filed Resolution 181 enabling an inquiry into the killing of journalists.

This is very good. But I hope they look into the root causes, the most obvious of which is corruption in government. The corrupt not only steal, they kill.

For today I had intended to write a whole piece on the recent Louie R. Prieto Awards for different categories of stories and photos that came out in the Inquirer. But then, the shocking news about Esperat... Four of the LRP awards were for the ``positive’’ categories. It’s not all bad and sad news, you know.

Joy comes in the morning. Like Mary of Magdala, I exclaim, ``Rabboni!’’ Feel the sound of it. And so Happy Easter.

The dessert mothers

March being Women’s month and today being Holy Thursday, it is a good time to reflect on the contribution of little known Christian women of ancient times.

During my recent visit to the Benedictine Resource Center at the St. Scholastica’s Center of Spirituality in Tagaytay, Sr. Bellarmine Bernas OSB showed me around the new building and library. If you’ve had a Benedictine education as I had (and so Germanic at that), you’d know you’re home amidst this treasure trove that is both ancient and new.

I saw a stack of books titled ``The Forgotten Desert Mothers: Sayings, Lives and Stories of Early Christian Women’’ (2001) by Laura Swan, prioress of a Benedictine monastery in the Pacific Northwest. Sr. Bellarmine bought many copies at sale price so that more women and men would know about these trail-blazing women. I went home with a copy.

Swan’s book was the fruit of graduate research in theology and spirituality. ``(When) I began to pursue and collect traces of these women’s stories, it often felt like the sleuthing work of Sister Frevisse or Brother Cadfael in the medieval whodunits I enjoy. I found myself tracking down clues, following strands of evidence, and reading the shadow of texts to find these women. Clues often took the form of rare scholarly material, frequently in footnotes and asides.’’

Women’s history, Swan complains, has often been relegated to the shadow world: felt but not seen. ``Many of our church fathers became prominent because of women. Many of these fathers were educated and supported by strong women, and some are even credited with founding movements that were actually begun by the women in their lives.’’



Ancient Christian hagiography can be difficult reading, Swan says, so ``to assist our 21st-century hearts and sensibilities’’ she retells many of the stories, cuts out the heavy and highlights the helpful and interesting.

Christianity, Swan says, was initially a home-centered faith, with domestic dwellings used for community meetings. Both women and men were involved in spreading the faith and in works of mercy. Ancient tombstones revealed that women held leadership positions: ruler of the synagogue, deacon, presbyter, honorable woman bishop.

Even at that time when Christianity was under persecution by the Roman Empire, women were deeply attracted to the Christian movement. They embraced persecution and martyrdom and embarked on spiritual journeys. Some did experimentation in community living, others lived in solitude or in small groups.

As Christianity moved into the mainstream when it became the official religion of the Roman Empire, many were also drawn to the desert and monasteries. As leadership opportunities within mainstream Christianity decreased, the desert and the monastery offered women a greater sense of physical and spiritual autonomy.

Those who wanted to dedicate themselves to the ascetic life had to seek a spiritual leader. Writes Swan: ``An amma or abba was someone seasoned in the ascetic life, who was known to have reached a level of maturity and wisdom and had experience in teaching by example, exhortation, story and instruction.''

The goal of the desert, says Swan, was apatheia. ``Apatheia is a mature mindfulness, a grounded sensitivity, and a keen attention to one’s inner world as well as to the world in which one has journeyed…The ammas teach us to intentionally let go of all that keeps us from the singleminded pursuit of God: feelings and thoughts that bind us, cravings and addictions that diminish our sense of worth and attachments to self-imposed perfectionism. Apatheia is nourished by simplicity grounded in abundance of the soul.’’

Amma Syncletica of Egypt could have meant this for those with star complex: ``For just as those who wish to gaze at the sun damage their vision, so also (she) who (tries) to mirror the radiance of her life fall victim to confusion of mind, dazzled, overcome, and unstrung by the magnitude of her achievements.’’

Melania the Elder of Jerusalem influenced a circle of men whose writings would highly influence Christian theology. Of her was written: ``A woman of more elevated rank, she loftily cast herself down to a humble way of life, so that as a strong member of the weak sex she might censure indolent men, so that as a rich person appropriating poverty, and as a noble person adopting humility, she might confound people of both sexes.'’

Radegunde (born 525) was the reluctant wife of Clothar I and a queen of the Franks. She used her wealth to build hospitals and minister to the poor. She left her husband upon learning that he had ordered the murder of her brother. She established a monastery at Poitiers, preached daily and devoted much time to prayer. She had a talent for pastoral care and spiritual direction.

The list is long: Euphrasia the Elder and the Younger, Euphrosyn of Alexandria, Alexandra, Florence, sisters Fracla, Posenna and Prompta, Blessed Woman Gelasia, Hilaria, Juliana, Manna of Fontenet, Mary the Anchorite, Mastridia of Jerusalem, Monegund, Matrona of Perge, sisters Nymphodora, Menodora and Metrodora, Photina, Sosiana, Amma Tachom, Theodora and so many more.

In 1990, while on a difficult mountain coverage, I chanced upon a spiritual community composed of indigenous folk. They spoke in chants. They lived on top of a mountain and were led by a colorfully ornamented, betel nut-chewing B’laan woman with fair skin and light brown eyes. Her name was Mokayo. She was revered. Outsiders referred to her as diwata (muse or nymph). She was an amma.

Bulanghoy, balinghoy

Inday, bayle ta/ Di ko kay kapuy/ Amon pamahaw bulanghoy/ Amon panihudto bulanghoy nga puto/ Amon panihapon bulanghoy gihapon. (Inday, let us dance/ No, I am tired/ Our breakfast was cassava/ Our lunch was cassava cake/ Our supper was still cassava.)

I learned that folk song many years ago from my Cebuano-speaking friends from whom I also learned street-corner lingo, like `Wa ka kuyapi?’ and how to eat boiled unripe bananas with ginamos (fish paste) which, for me, is a gustatory puzzlement. We kept singing the bulanghoy (cassava) song until the guitar strings broke. It was sang best when we were a little soused and it brought us down to earth and away from all the academic stuff.

That song was swimming in my head the past week after 27 school children in Mabini, Bohol died and more than a hundred were downed shortly after they ate fried cassava snacks sold by vendors. Questions were immediately raised. Was it the cassava root that did it? Was it the way the food was prepared? Cassava contains linamarin. If cassava is improperly prepared, this toxic component could remain. When ingested, linamarin converts to cyanide in the human digestive system.

Or was there something else that got into the food? Like poison, pesticides or harmful bacteria? If something had to take the blame I was hoping it would be one of these. I did not want the starchy root to be mired in stigma. Well, two days ago, the Health Department ruled that it was pesticide, present in the cassava snack, that did it. But investigations will continue.



The day this tragedy I happened, I was eating cassava pitsi-pitsi which I bought in a popular food place in Chinatown. It was in a microwaveable plastic container with a stick-on label that said it tastes best if refrigerated. Bulanghoy, balinghoy or kamoteng kahoy has come a long way from its barrio nilupak beginnings. Making nilupak (by pounding together boiled cassava, young coconut and sugar) is still an excuse for farm folk to soak in the glow of the full moon.

If you laid out before me a variety of desserts that consisted of pastries with vanilla essence and fancy toppings on one side and native goodies (kakanin) on the other side, I’d make a beeline for the latter. The blend of coconut meat and milk with sticky rice or grated starchy roots, caramelized sugar and pandan, sometimes with a sprinkling of sesame seeds and nuts, was concocted in heaven where the majority must be Southeast Asians. The late Doreen Gamboa-Fernandez, food writer, author, teacher, would agree.

I’ve read that cassava is the world’s third most important crop. Cassava (manihot esculenta) originated in Brazil where it is called manioc. The Portuguese colonizers later brought it to Africa.

Cassava is the principal source of nutrition for about 500 million people. The root is a rich source of carbohydrates, protein, minerals and vitamins A, B and C.

The North Americans have it as tapioca (sago to us) for their custard-like tapioca pudding. The Chinese use it for tikoy. From cassava also comes gawgaw (all-purpose starch powder). Filipinos make a variety of cassava delights, among them, cassava bibingka.

Cassava leaves are edible. I have not tried a leafy dish but I found a recipe which has a French name—Feuilles de Manioc—on the Internet. This is a Central African recipe which resembles our own laing magnifique which uses gabi (taro) leaves.

An article in a World Bank site says that ``new knowledge of the biochemistry of the crop has proved that the proteins embedded in the leaves are equal in quality to the protein in egg. Cassava leaves and roots, if properly processed, can therefore provide a balanced diet protecting millions of African children against malnutrition.’’

Cassava is called ``Africa’s food security crop.’’ Incidentally, improperly prepared cassava was the cause of a disease called konzo which was first noticed in Africa in the 1930s. This turned out be low-level cyanide poisoning.

Cassava is a versatile crop and can grow even in poor soil and in between trees and other crops, suppressing weed growth. Its abundant leaves that fall to the ground are good organic matter that enriches the soil.

During the Nigerian civil war when food was scarce, Flora Nwapa, a Nigerian novelist and poet, wrote in praise of this African staple.

``We thank the almighty God/ For giving us cassava/We hail thee cassava/The great cassava
``You grow in poor soils/You grow in rich soils/You grow in gardens/You grow in farms
``You are easy to grow/Children can plant you/Women can plant you/Everybody can plant you
``We must sing for you/Great cassava, we must sing/We must not forget/Thee, the great one.’’

But I must end with a spoiler. A vendor of the cassava snack, who was herself stricken ill and groveling in her hospital bed, with tubes in her nostrils and all, had to be made to cough up answers by the ABS-CBN team led by Karen Davila. Did the poor woman have the choice to say no?

Wasn’t this manner of gathering news discussed at the ``Media Nation 2’’ assembly last month? The network’s news gatekeepers and top guns, among them, Luchi Cruz-Valdez and Maria Ressa (who moved in from CNN), were present there. Emergency room journalism still thrives hereabouts.

I declare loudly that we must appreciate the media’s presence in Mabini. That said, may I also say that if I allowed my words to match the intensity of my disgust on seeing that bedside behavior, I would say things differently.

And so I simply ask the ABS-CBN team, why? Not, why did you do it, which begs for a justification. Why, as in, why were you so insensitive?

Post-traumatic stress disorder

For those involved in the rescue, relief and rehabilitation operations in the aftermath of the recent series of disasters here and abroad, the realization that the problem is more than material and economic could be daunting. The psychological trauma of survivors could be paralyzing and the effects could be long-lasting if these are not addressed immediately and properly.

The recent killer landslides in our own home ground and the post-Christmas tsunami that killed more than 165,000 people in 11 countries and left millions bereaved and bereft have to mean something and result in something. Otherwise, is it all despair?

Last Monday we wrote about the experiences of a team of clinical psychologists who fanned out to several disaster areas in the aftermath of the 1990 earthquake, the 1991 Mount Pinatubo and 1993 Mayon Volcano eruptions. The team, called HEART (Holistic and Empathetic Approach to Rehabilitation and Training), was composed of Ateneo University masteral and doctoral psychology students led by Dr. Ma. Lourdes A. Carandang, a seasoned clinical psychologist, researcher and author. The effort was funded by Unicef.

One of the fruits of their experiences was the book ``Pakikipagkapwa-Damdamin: Accompanying Survivors of Disasters’’ (Bookmark, 1996). The book is now being updated and redesigned for reprinting. It is a rich source of insights and methodology for those helping survivors to cope with their trauma and find meaning in what is left of their lives. Empowering them is even more daunting. Note that I avoid using the word victim.

That tongue-twister in the title means empathy and more. If sympathy is pakikiramay, empathy goes farther and deeper.



As a journalist who uses words as a medium and as one who had trained in clinical psychology and worked with the breaking and the broken once upon a time, I could not help but note the therapeutic power of words and story-telling. Naming the pain, saying and sharing one’s pain, beholding the pain of others—these could be the beginning of healing.

For post-disaster rescuers and caregivers who must wade into the ocean of human sorrow and who might feel overwhelmed, bewildered and clueless, the book offers not only how-tos but comfort as well. Arellano’s book also deals with the burden and burnout of the caregivers.

This ``Diagnostic Critera for Post Traumatic Disorder’’ crafted by psychologists and psychiatrists (and by the HEART team) could equip those out there in dealing with the pain of survivors as well as there own.

A. the person has experienced an event that is outside the range of usual human experience and that would be markedly distressing to almost anyone, that is, serious threat to one’s life or physical integrity; serious threat or harm to one’s children, spouse, or other close relatives and friends; sudden destruction of one’s home or community; or seeing another person who has recently been or was being seriously injured or killed as the result of an accident or physical violence.

B. The traumatic event is persistently re-experienced in at least one of the following ways:

1. the recurrent and intrusive distressing recollections of the event (in young children, repetitive play in which themes or aspects of the trauma are expressed)
2. recurrent distressing dreams of the event
3. sudden acting or feeling as if the traumatic event were recurring (including a sense of reliving the experience, illusions hallucinations, and dissociative flashback episodes, even those that occur upon awakening or when intoxicated)
4. intense psychological distress at exposure to events that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event, including anniversaries of the trauma

C. Persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma or numbing of general responsiveness (not present before the trauma), as indicated by at least three of the following

1. efforts to avoid thoughts or feelings associated with the trauma
2. efforts to avoid activities or situations that arouse recollections of the trauma
3. inability to recall an important aspect of the trauma (psychogenic amnesia)
4. markedly diminished interest in significant activities in young children, loss of recently acquired developmental skills such as toilet training or language skills
5. feeling of detachment or estrangement from others
6. restricted range of affect, that is, being unable to have loving feelings
7. sense of a foreshortened future, that is, does not expect to have a career, marriage, or children, or a long life

D. Persistent symptoms of increased arousal (not present before the trauma) as indicated by at least two of the following

1. difficulty falling asleep
2. irritability or outbursts of anger
3. difficulty concentrating
4. hypervigilance
5. exaggerated startle response
6. physiological reactivity upon exposure to events that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event (for example, a woman who was raped in an elevator breaks out in sweat when entering any elevator)

E. Duration of the disturbance (symptoms in B, C and D) of at least one month.

Note: sometimes the onset of these symptoms could be delayed.

****

May I say again that there are websites that accept ``tsunami donations’’ via credit card, among them, www.unicef.org, www.ifrc.org and www.catholicrelief.org. Some people I know who are not internet-literate sent money and asked me to do it for them. I was touched. Unicef instantly issues a receipt in the donor’s name via the card holder’s email.

Now please do it yourself.

Anti-corruption ribbons, badges

A few weeks ago we were high on the list of the world’s happiest people. This week’s news says we are number 2 on Asia’s graft and corruption list. Are we happy because we are corrupt or are we corrupt because we are happy? Okay, just kidding.

Gusto mong magkapera? (Do you want to make money?) My friend’s boss called my friend to his office one day to ask her that. My friend was working in a government agency/commission that was tasked to improve the lives of many and make people live in peace and harmony.

Easy, the boss told my friend who had spent many years in NGO work before she moved to the government to try it out. (She had since left.) Receipts were the secret. That’s not really a secret, is it?

My friend was so stunned. What came out of her mouth was a polite, ``No, sir, my husband makes enough for all our needs.’’

Why did you give that kind of excuse or reason? I asked. She could have given a better one. My point was: having enough money or being independently rich is not a reason for not stealing. Or that low pay is a justification for being corrupt. Why, some of the most rapacious and greedy already have so much to begin with. Stealing people’s money is simply wrong any way you look at it.



My friend said she was so shocked that was all she could say. Well, it must have been like meeting a flasher in a darkened alley, if you know what I mean. By the way, when confronted by one don’t charge or, worse, run away. That is what gives the exhibitionist gratification. Say something that will make the coward slink away with inferiority. Like, you’re not interested, then stare him down. They’re generally harmless, these types. But not the exhibitionists who wear their loot in so many subtle and vulgar ways.

That friend of mine, rather known for her colorful language, could only say so much at that time. No, thank you.

And how would she have made money? Well, it was not even big-time, like, on multi-million contracts. But there was something to be had in supplies, events and out-of-town trips and seminars in, uhm, nice places. Arrggh, the never-ending seminars.

What really disgusted me was the fact that the agency/commission where she worked was tasked to alleviate the plight of the poor and the neglected. Oh my God, I thought, all that money that was poured in there does not entirely go to the beneficiaries after all. So much goes to the perks of the bureaucracy and, worse, some of it goes to ghost expenses. There’s just so much people’s money wasted.

Always, anti-corruption advocates point to the big fish who take home the big loot and scandalize their subordinates. The corruption landscape is easy to picture, the solution easier said than done. Clean up the top and the bottom will follow?

A good number of squeaky-clean top-level government bureaucrats had come and gone but the graft-ridden bureaucracy lives on. There is a lot going on in the middle-level which is hard to shake down.

But, of course, there were big ones who stole in a grand way—the big-time plunderers who will never get to feel what it’s like to be strapped to the gurney like that rapist whom I watched die by lethal injection. But while there is great sense in keeping an eye on the big bosses, it would also be good to work on the small fry who know the nuts and bolts and who will themselves go up the ladder.

So why not try it the other way around? The small fry should give a good example to the bosses. If they are well-organized, if they know they have the support of the people they serve, if they realize they can’t get away with robbery and theft because their peers are watching, this sector in the bureaucracy might be able to set the standard for their bosses.

We focus so much on the individuals and we really feast on the big ones who get caught red-handed. We could even feel sorry for the ``smaller’’ ones who stole just a few grands but went to prison. But bigger than all of these corrupt big and small individuals combined is the culture of corruption that thrives. It is like a slimy body of water that gives life to vermin and a host of harmful organisms. That water has to be flushed out or changed.

Do I sound like a Girl Scout? Well, I was a Girl Scout. My badge was a badge of honor. And one of the things that I remember, aside from ``Be prepared’’ is ``Do a good turn daily.’’ I believed with my small heart that the world could be better if each one did that. There are good things we will always remember.

And so why don’t we make people always remember? Is there something that would remind those who work in the government and for the people that they are to be trusted, that they are to be honest? That we look to them to erase the curse of pangungurakot?

What about ribbons and stickers and badges and buttons? There is a ribbon color for every movement—purple for women against violence, red for AIDS, etc.

Some people might find wearing anti-corruption thingamajigs a very self-righteous, holier-than-thou practice. I say, the corrupt strut about in signature clothes and ride away to the sunrise in their SUVs, while the upright must hide in humility? The latter is false humility that embolden the hardened sticky-fingers.

Incidentally, a group of Cebu NGOs came up with a booklet titled ``Homily Guide on Corruption’’ which priests and preachers could use. Great. Surely many corrupt officials are also church-goers.

TV discombobulation

The Inquirer’s editorial two days ago dwelled on Social Welfare and Development Secretary Corazon ``Dinky’’ Soliman’s warning to parents that excess television viewing by children could stunt their creativity and skills.

Nakakabobo. (It dumbs.) It numbs. Too much TV affects reading skills and seriously inhibits left-brain functions needed for oral and verbal activities. The right brain becomes more dominant and thus makes zombies of TV addicts. That may sound like an exaggeration but try parking yourself in front of the TV the whole day for no urgent reason (urgent would be the stimulating 9/11 or the tsunami updates) and your brain just leaves you. The packs of junk food also vanishes in front of you.

Compare this with reading which makes your mind active and your imagination fly. Compare this with activities such as designing, problem-solving or writing. Writing may be a solitary activity but it does not bring on the loneliness of the long-distance runner. The writer is not really alone. There is a whole caboodle of characters that are alive, ideas and stories playing themselves out in the writer’s brain. And then the images in the landscape of the mind translates into words and these words go to one’s fingers and to the computer screen and finally to the printed page. Later, to be absorbed by other minds.



Of course, there is a time to turn it all off, to go to the garden and coax the plants to grow or eat good food and sip coffee with friends.

Television may look like it has everything. For many, it is their daily source of daily information. Indeed television contains a lot, but what kind of information and how much of it is truly information?

Some years ago I wrote about something I had read in a book(I didn’t get it from TV) which was about the information that we are missing out. I want to share this again.

When many people in this world thought we were having a surfeit of information, information gatherers, information providers, information managers and what-have-you, and we were up to here with the electronic media, one writer set out to find out what exactly was happening outside and inside of him in the context of all this information tsunami.

Bill MacKibben did this and the result of his extraordinary effort was the book ``The Age of Missing Information.’’ (He also wrote the celebrated ``The End of Nature’’.)

One day, McKibben sat in front of his TV to find an answer to the question, ``Does having access to more information than ever mean that we know more than ever?’’ McKibben watched a single day’s TV programs on all 93 cable stations in Fairfax, Virginia. He taped some 2,000 hours of shows and then watched them all.

MacKibben chose Fairfax because of the astounding size of the cable system there: five Christian channels, four for shopping, two for country music video, one for plane arrivals and departures. A cable magazine listed nearly 1,000 movies per month. There were two comedy channels, nine public access and government channels, two for weather, one for sports, name it.

``On a single day,’’ wrote McKibben, ``you can hear about virtually every topic on earth.’’ He watched ``endless newscasts and hyperactive game shows, bizarre sporting events, infomercials for devices with unknown uses, helpful hints for bass fishermen, cheetahs dispatching zebras, evangelists begging for dollars, and more episodes of `The Brady Bunch’ than a sane man could bear.’’

To discover what was missing in what he saw on TV, McKibben spent 24 hours—only 24—on top of an Adirondack mountain. He watched insects and vultures, climbed trees, even swam in an ice cold pond. And he listened.

There, on that mountaintop, McKibben discovered many things about himself and the world around him. He was able to gather information that was not offered by the boob tube.

McKibben’s expedition was not that of a dabbler or dilettante who had nothing better to do. In ``The Age of Missing Informtion’’ he seriously and with great humor, dissects the information in those 2,000 hours of videotape. His observations are both hilarious and sobering. And he also writes so very well.

But it is the mountaintop lessons that are timeless and precious. ``The idea of standing under the stars and feeling how small you are—that’s not a television idea. Everything on television tells you the opposite—you’re the most important person, that people are all that matter. ``We do it all for you’; `Have it your way’, the immortal `This Bud’s for you’. The endless parade of jesters to entertain you, the obsequious newscasts that bring the story to you want to see right to your living room. It’s what you want—`The consumer is our God’ (said) the chairman of the MTV Network.’’

Incidentally, some of these issues were discussed at the ``Media Nation 2: Owning Up’’ conference in Tagaytay last month.

It is not true, McKibben says, that we live in an age of information or that there is an information explosion/revolution. In many ways the opposite is true, he says.

``We live at a moment of deep ignorance, when vital knowledge that humans have always possessed about who we are and where we live seems beyond our reach…An age of missing information.’’

The star culture and the hard-sell of excessive glamour and glitter that our local television networks promote have only added glaze to the eyes of starstruck TV junkies and to their dumbing, numbing and discombobulation. To prevent blood coagulation, don’t tune in to the early morning chatter on free TV.