Summer in Diliman
March 18, 2002 | 12:00am
Out here in Diliman, where change arrives as subtly as the cadena de amor in untended patches of the campus greenery, March comes with a certain shortness of breath, with an awareness of the nearing end of the semester and its inevitable decline into two weeks of mad confusion as term papers and exams get written, submitted, and graded all in a hurry.
But it is, for most, a happy frenzy, a panic laced with the anticipation of summer and graduation, of escape and rejuvenation. Where June brings smoky showers and quickens the senses of freshmen afraid yet eager to meet their teachers, March, in its dryness, foments lassitude and indifference (except among those threatened by the giddy possibility of graduating summa or magna, or of flunking out altogether).
Sometimes the heat and the carelessness go to people’s heads the wrong way. It’s also the season for frat tussles and for campus politicking (do you see, duh, any connection between the two?), and over the past couple of weeks we’ve had a dose of both, thankfully more of the latter than the former. Two frats found it worthwhile to bash each other’s heads over the thermonuclear issue of faked entrance tickets to the school fair, and the gut- and heart-wrenching Dennis Venturina decision came down, while three campus parties (the political, not the fun ones) duked it out for student votes in the University Council election.
I listen to these proto-politicos every year, granting them the obligatory two to three minutes to make their pitch before my students. Every year – and it doesn’t matter whether they come from the left, right, or center – they sound more and more like drones. Their party platforms were probably crafted over takeout pizza, and sound like it – most of the attention went to the food.
I listen to them and see many marching on to Congress, just going by the rhetoric and the gestures. I often find myself wishing that, one of these days, a truly different party will break out of the grim-and-determined pack: the Humor Party, the Fantasy Party, the Party Party. It’ll probably lead the Student Council to perdition, but others have already done that, in much less interesting ways. (Sorry to be so harsh, but of course I’m exaggerating.)
One student campaigner came into my classroom the other day to warn his fellows about the encroachment of "foreign interests" on the university – specifically, the Japanese, who are funding a high-tech facility in Diliman’s Science and Technology Park for the training of Filipino IT professionals. Speaking like he was regurgitating a leaflet he had swallowed, this young man also excoriated UP’s growing ties with private industry, as if the Ayalas had some devilish plan to steal the Sunken Garden while no one was looking.
The harangue left me dumbfounded – a classic case, it seemed to me, of the "Marxist-in-a-time-warp" syndrome, betraying a fascinating fear of the foreign and the private, two heads in the hydra of global capitalism.
I was tempted to ask that boy what exactly it was about the Japanese and the Ayalas that he found so repulsive and insidious, and if he had taken a solemn oath never to knock on the doors of a private firm (or, horror of horrors, a Japanese multinational like Toyota or Sony) upon graduation. But I held my tongue, reminding myself of how insufferably certain I was of the trouble with the world in my 17th summer.
Some things never change – but thankfully, people do. Enjoy your summer break, folks – and this time, do something different!
These people’s summer will definitely be different. The UP Creative Writing Center has just released the roster of fellows for the 40th National Writers Workshop, which will be held April 1-14 at Hotel Veneracion (formerly Hotel Salome) in Baguio City. They are: (Poetry in English) Jeneen R. Garcia, Francis L. Martinez, Ime Aznar; and Rodrigo V. de la Peña Jr.; (Fiction in English) Anna Felicia C. Sanchez, Rachelle Tesoro, Faye V. Ilogon, and Adam Julian A. David; (Fiction in Iluko) Amibell B. Corpuz; (Drama) Josephine Baui; (Poetry in Filipino) Reagan R. Maiquez, Beverly W. Siy, and Joseph Rosmon M. Tuazon; (Fiction in Filipino) Ricardo P. Fernando, Jeffrey M. Espiritu, Marlon M. Villegas, and Vladimeir B. Gonzales; (Poetry in Iluko) Ariel S. Tabag; (Poetry in Bikol) Estelito B. Jacob and Rizaldy M. Manrique.
National Book Store (NBS) has been a great friend of writers and writing these past many decades, not only because of its unparalleled reach (some 50 outlets nationwide) but also because of the literary publishing program of its sister-company, Anvil Publishing.
A new NBS policy, however, now threatens that reputation, not to speak of the viability of literary publishing and of small publishers themselves in this country.
Earlier this month, publishers consigning their books to NBS received an eye-opening letter from NBS informing them that the bookstore chain was dropping slow-selling titles from its inventory and asking them to withdraw these titles as soon as possible. Three weeks was what NBS gave publishers like Milflores – which puts out a wide range of small books, from cockfighting to travel and short fiction – to pull out their books. Bigger publishers like the UP Press were affected as well.
When Milflores president Tony Hidalgo called NBS to ask what an acceptable monthly volume of book sales for an individual title was, he was given the figure of 100 copies by the NBS representative.
Now, as any Filipino author knows – unless you’re talking about textbooks, which have a captive market, and unless you’re Margie Holmes or Bob Garon – hardly anyone hereabouts sells 100 copies of one title a month (less for coffetable books, more for popular romances). That means 1,200 copies a year – your entire first edition sold out, plus. (One of the stark ironies of living in a country of 80 million and that prides itself on its 90-percent-plus literacy rate is the fact that the initial print run of our literary titles remains a paltry thousand copies.)
The NBS policy – which is already being enforced – will effectively kill literary publishing in the Philippines. Because of its predominance as a book distributor, NBS and its shelf space can make or unmake a book – for which privilege it reportedly marks up the price by as much as 40 percent. For the same reason, it can make or unmake small but risk-taking publishers like Milflores, who have little choice but to depend on NBS for the bulk of their sales.
The best and the most daring and exciting writing, almost by definition, appeals to only a few. Letting sales dictate publishing will lead us on a short slide down to formulaic mediocrity, which is what we already have in the movies.
As an Anvil-published author myself, I hope that NBS will reconsider its position and once again help to enrich, instead of further impoverishing, the Filipino mind.
Send e-mail to Butch Dalisay at penmanila@yahoo.com.
But it is, for most, a happy frenzy, a panic laced with the anticipation of summer and graduation, of escape and rejuvenation. Where June brings smoky showers and quickens the senses of freshmen afraid yet eager to meet their teachers, March, in its dryness, foments lassitude and indifference (except among those threatened by the giddy possibility of graduating summa or magna, or of flunking out altogether).
Sometimes the heat and the carelessness go to people’s heads the wrong way. It’s also the season for frat tussles and for campus politicking (do you see, duh, any connection between the two?), and over the past couple of weeks we’ve had a dose of both, thankfully more of the latter than the former. Two frats found it worthwhile to bash each other’s heads over the thermonuclear issue of faked entrance tickets to the school fair, and the gut- and heart-wrenching Dennis Venturina decision came down, while three campus parties (the political, not the fun ones) duked it out for student votes in the University Council election.
I listen to these proto-politicos every year, granting them the obligatory two to three minutes to make their pitch before my students. Every year – and it doesn’t matter whether they come from the left, right, or center – they sound more and more like drones. Their party platforms were probably crafted over takeout pizza, and sound like it – most of the attention went to the food.
I listen to them and see many marching on to Congress, just going by the rhetoric and the gestures. I often find myself wishing that, one of these days, a truly different party will break out of the grim-and-determined pack: the Humor Party, the Fantasy Party, the Party Party. It’ll probably lead the Student Council to perdition, but others have already done that, in much less interesting ways. (Sorry to be so harsh, but of course I’m exaggerating.)
One student campaigner came into my classroom the other day to warn his fellows about the encroachment of "foreign interests" on the university – specifically, the Japanese, who are funding a high-tech facility in Diliman’s Science and Technology Park for the training of Filipino IT professionals. Speaking like he was regurgitating a leaflet he had swallowed, this young man also excoriated UP’s growing ties with private industry, as if the Ayalas had some devilish plan to steal the Sunken Garden while no one was looking.
The harangue left me dumbfounded – a classic case, it seemed to me, of the "Marxist-in-a-time-warp" syndrome, betraying a fascinating fear of the foreign and the private, two heads in the hydra of global capitalism.
I was tempted to ask that boy what exactly it was about the Japanese and the Ayalas that he found so repulsive and insidious, and if he had taken a solemn oath never to knock on the doors of a private firm (or, horror of horrors, a Japanese multinational like Toyota or Sony) upon graduation. But I held my tongue, reminding myself of how insufferably certain I was of the trouble with the world in my 17th summer.
Some things never change – but thankfully, people do. Enjoy your summer break, folks – and this time, do something different!
A new NBS policy, however, now threatens that reputation, not to speak of the viability of literary publishing and of small publishers themselves in this country.
Earlier this month, publishers consigning their books to NBS received an eye-opening letter from NBS informing them that the bookstore chain was dropping slow-selling titles from its inventory and asking them to withdraw these titles as soon as possible. Three weeks was what NBS gave publishers like Milflores – which puts out a wide range of small books, from cockfighting to travel and short fiction – to pull out their books. Bigger publishers like the UP Press were affected as well.
When Milflores president Tony Hidalgo called NBS to ask what an acceptable monthly volume of book sales for an individual title was, he was given the figure of 100 copies by the NBS representative.
Now, as any Filipino author knows – unless you’re talking about textbooks, which have a captive market, and unless you’re Margie Holmes or Bob Garon – hardly anyone hereabouts sells 100 copies of one title a month (less for coffetable books, more for popular romances). That means 1,200 copies a year – your entire first edition sold out, plus. (One of the stark ironies of living in a country of 80 million and that prides itself on its 90-percent-plus literacy rate is the fact that the initial print run of our literary titles remains a paltry thousand copies.)
The NBS policy – which is already being enforced – will effectively kill literary publishing in the Philippines. Because of its predominance as a book distributor, NBS and its shelf space can make or unmake a book – for which privilege it reportedly marks up the price by as much as 40 percent. For the same reason, it can make or unmake small but risk-taking publishers like Milflores, who have little choice but to depend on NBS for the bulk of their sales.
The best and the most daring and exciting writing, almost by definition, appeals to only a few. Letting sales dictate publishing will lead us on a short slide down to formulaic mediocrity, which is what we already have in the movies.
As an Anvil-published author myself, I hope that NBS will reconsider its position and once again help to enrich, instead of further impoverishing, the Filipino mind.
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