Don’t cry: Reach for the sky! - BY THE WAY by Max V. Soliven

Prayer is not enough. Don’t take my word for it. That’s what God (Yahweh) told Solomon. You know who King Solomon was: The guy former President FVR and former Speaker Joe de Venecia used to refer to all the time whenever they did something controversial and tried to justify it by calling it a "Solomonic decision."

There’s no doubt yesterday afternoon’s mighty rally at the Luneta (estimated by Gen. Edgardo Aglipay at 1.2 million) far eclipsed the "resign Estrada" rally staged by Cory-Sin the Cardinal and the anti-Erap militants at the EDSA Shrine last November 4.

While the rally sponsored by the powerful El Shaddai, the Iglesia ni Cristo and other denominations had been billed as a nonpartisan prayer meeting to implore God’s blessings in uniting our people and healing the nation’s wounds, it’s clear it was designed to be a "show of strength" for President Estrada, who was accompanied to the affair by the First Lady, Dr. Loi Ejercito Estrada, as well as most Cabinet members and assorted officials.

Message delivered, I’d say. However, yesterday’s prayers delivered by various religious group leaders reminded me of God’s admonition to King Solomon when the King of Israel dedicated the great Temple he built in Jerusalem on Mount Moriah to Yahweh Himself. The Bible says God appeared to Solomon as the latter prayed in the Temple that night to declare him: "I have heard your prayer, and I have chosen this place for my house of sacrifice. If I close heaven so that there is no rain, if I command the locust to devour the land, if I send pestilence among my people, and if my people upon whom my Name has been pronounced humble themselves and pray and seek my presence AND TURN FROM THEIR EVIL WAYS, then I will hear them from heaven and pardon their sins and revive their land. Now my eyes shall be opened and my ears attentive to the prayer of this place."

God’s injunction to Solomon was unvarnished and plain: It is not enough that people pray to Him and humble themselves. They must "turn from their evil ways." Only then will He hear them from heaven, pardon their sins and revive their land. This commentary of mine, I hasten to add, is not intended to rival today’s sermons at Holy Mass. It’s just that this Biblical quotation is so timely, and shines with such threat and promise that its meaning cannot and must not be ignored.

There will be more rallies to come, welgas, and other demonstrations, both pro and con. If those who march, pray, speak and participate are not honest and earnest in spirit, then they will be like the pharisees whom the Lord so strongly condemned. We are witnessing too much hatred, bitterness and ambition – all around. And the dismaying aspect of it is that too many are invoking God’s name. In vain?

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Speaker Manny Villar, who – if you will recall – bolted the ruling LAMP Party of the President two weeks ago, told me the other day that when he opens the Plenary Session of the House tomorrow he will insist that the Representatives deal with the "impeachment" issue immediately and not waste their time maneuvering or moving for a revamp in the leadership of the House of Representatives.

"If they want to revamp me out of the Speakership," Villar stated, "it’s up to them: But they must put first things first. We must deal with the ‘impeachment’ motion first, then worry about reorganizing the House leadership and committee chairmanships after that more urgent matter is concluded – and the impeachment process leading up to the Senate is first undertaken."

When I asked him how long it would take for the Lower House to deal with the "impeachment" measure, Villar asserted that "if we can manage it in one day, that would be ideal. However, I promise to deal with it as expeditiously as possible – with no delays, filibustering, or stonewalling, hopefully, placing unnecessary obstacles to it in the chamber!"

That, Manny, is easier said than done. But go to it. Politics has always been described as "the art of the possible." The trouble is that, often enough, you can’t tell what’s possible from what’s impossible.

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Whenever I hear all that loud wailing and gnashing of teeth from the business sector about how the economy is going to the dogs, how the peso is in a free-fall, and how everybody is going broke or will soon be out of their jobs, etc., I muse on how such spoiled weaklings we’ve become.

Yesterday, the British Broadcasting Corp. (BBC) ran a fascinating analysis of Japan today, and reviewed that terrible shokku, a decade ago, when Japan’s "bubble" of prosperity burst. Before the bubble popped, Japan was being billed as Number Two (next only to the great United States), an Economic Superpower poised to overtake America (and buy up Rockefeller Center, Hollywood, and the USA, too). In short, Japan seemed invincible.

Then, almost overnight, everything went to pieces. Millionaires became unemployed. They were jailed for having "lied" to obtain their huge bank loans. Factory owners had to lay off most of their employees and work themselves in horribly straitened circumstances, along with family members, on the assembly line. There were 3,500 suicides in that year alone. From "riding high" to bankruptcy and shame – that was Japan’s plight.

The "lifetime employment" guarantee extended to all sararimen (salary men) and workers evaporated. From big spenders to panicked money-hoarders – that’s how the once All-Powerful Japanese went. Did they give up? Did they whine and groan? Stolidly, the Japanese people cut down on their excesses, luxurious pursuits and revels and, haltingly, stooped to rebuild their nation, dented not only financially but in morale – but persevering nonetheless.

If you think the current economic turndown in this country is bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Those who are old enough to remember what this nation had to endure during the three and a half years of cruel Japanese wartime occupation, or the first few years post-Liberation when millions had to scrabble through the ruin of their lives, can only laugh at the moaning and groaning so prevalent nowadays. That "text" joke about the peso becoming two to one dollar, i.e., ha-ha, two kilos to one dollar wasn’t a joke during the last year of the war. Two kilos of wartime "Mickey Mouse" pesos bought one egg.

So, let’s stop being crybabies. The popular "wisdom" being foolishly peddled is that if Erap is impeached, or forced to "resign", or is propelled from Malacañang on his butt, everything will become happy and prosperous again. Not on your life. Let’s stop sobbing into our kleenex tissues or soiled handkerchiefs and determinedly put our shoulders to the wheel. A sincere prayer or two to Almighty God, His angels and saints will help, too – but God helps those, as the old adage reminds us, who help themselves.

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When this writer was in South Australia the other week (visiting my wife who is doing a Doctoral Dissertation in the University of Adelaide), I wandered into the Adelaide Booksellers in Rundle mall, that jewel of a shop which boasts an inventory of 40,000 second-hand books.

There was one volume I picked up and couldn’t put down – so I bought it at the Ilocano prices charged by that bookshop. It was entitled Reach for the Sky and written by Paul Brickhill (Collins, St. James’s Place, London, 1954). Reading the story of Douglas Bader (you don’t recognize that name, do you?) brought tears to my eyes – and it’s more than pertinent today, since Britain commemorates Remembrance Day this Sunday, and last Friday observed the anniversary of the Armistice in 1918 which ended World War I.

What was remarkable about Douglas Robert Steuart Bader? It was not that he became one of England’s most revered and decorated Air aces in the Battle of Britain, shooting down dozens of German planes in dogfights in his Spitfire, rising from Flight Leader to Wing Commander – but that all of his exploits were accomplished despite the fact that he had lost BOTH of his legs in a plane crash eight years earlier, in 1931!

In school Bader had been an outstanding sportsman: Captain of cricket, captain of rugger, captain of soccer, and a track and field "racing star." He won a scholarship to St. Edward’s, Oxford. As a Royal Air Force cadet at Cranwell, he played cricket and rugger for the RAF. He become an exceptional pilot. Then tragedy struck. Unable to resist a "dare", he spun his plane out of control in a sharp maneuver and crashed. Both of his legs had to be amputated.

This would have been the end of any other man’s story. To Bader, however, it proved just another challenge. He had himself fitted out with artificial legs, and, although the doctors had warned him he’d never walk again without a crutch or at least a cane (walking stick), Bader threw both away and went back to swimming, dancing – and playing tennis, squash and golf! He threw himself into games so enthusiastically, even recklessly that at times the pins and bolts in his artificial limbs popped out. As soon as his legs got "fixed," Bader was at it again.

When war came, and even before Hitler’s Luftwaffe began blitzing London, Bader eagerly volunteered for service anew in the RAF. He was offered a desk job, but stubbornly he asked to become a Spitfire or fighter pilot. Although he had passed all the flying tests (his friendly fellow officers had believed he’d flunk) and all the medical tests, he was turned down. There were no regulations, he was regretfully informed, covering the commissioning of "legless pilots"! He persisted, buttonholing everyone he knew. At last, going from level to level, he managed to meet Air Vice Marshal Halahan, his old commandant at Cranwell. Halahan said he could only hand out "ground jobs", not "general duties", but he took a piece of paper and wrote on it, sealed it, and wordlessly gave it to Bader.

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Bader recalled later: "I visited the various rooms in turn: eyes, ears, nose and throat; blood pressure, heart and lungs – never a shadow of doubt. I asked the last doctor, "Am I all right for flying?’ and he gave a short laugh as though I had been joking. Finally my file was complete and the wing commander sent for me and said: ‘Apart from your legs you’re a hundred per cent.’ He pushed a bit of paper across to me, and said: ‘Have you seen this?’ It was Halahan’s note. I said: ‘No, sir.’ I looked at it and as far as I remember it read: ‘I have known this officer since he was a cadet at Cranwell. He’s the type we want. If he is fit, apart from his legs, I suggest you give him A.I.B. category and leave it to Central Flying School to assess his flying capabilities.’ "

Subsequently, Bader was told to report for his test at the CFS (school) at Upavon.

Finally, a telegram arrived: "Posted to 19 Squadron, Duxford, w.e.f. February 7 (1939)."

His wife, Thelma, his inspiration through thick and thin, quietly packed the overjoyed Bader’s bag – and he was off to war! He flew at Dunkirk, making his first "kills." He was to become one of the most feared aces of the RAF. Just before he himself was shot down over France, his reputation had grown so fearsome that when a Luftwaffe pilot saw his familiar Spitfire approaching, on one occasion, the pilot bailed out before Bader had even fired a shot.

His downfall came when he tangled with six Messerschmitts at once. Three German soldiers picked him up, his artificial legs gone, his throat cut, and brought him to a military hospital in St. Omer. He was later taken to a prison camp (Stalag) in Warburg, near Kassel, Germany. What did he do? He tried, legless mind you, to escape. When the US and Allied forces at last "liberated" him, Bader’s first request was for the Americans to bring him to an airfield where he could find a Spitfire and return to the fighting.

"Good God, man!" a young British major who was liaison officer with the US First Army Headquarters in Naunberg exclaimed: "Give it a miss and go home. Haven’t you had enough?"

Bader, the legless Ace, at the zenith of his career, had control over twelve fighter squadrons spread over six aerodromes. For personal bravery and leadership, he was awarded two D.S.O.’s and bar, and two Distinguished Flying Crosses (D.F.C.) and bar. He had shot down 30 enemy aircraft by official count. He received the French Legion d’Honneur, a Croix de Guerre and other foreign decorations. What outraged him, whenever he went on tour, was for newspapers (as in Athens, when he was photographed with limbless Greek veterans) to call him a "famous cripple."

A "cripple"? He would snort: "I’m not a cripple!"

Author Brickhill wrote, fittingly indeed, in his final paragraph: ". . . His main triumph is not his air fighting; that was only an episode that focused a world’s attention on the greater victory he was achieving in showing humanity new horizons of courage, not in war, not only for the limbless, but in life."

Whenever we’re tempted to complain about the hardships and disappointments we encounter in life, I hope that – after we’ve been privileged to hear about the moving story of Bader’s "victories" over self – we’ll shrug off our discouragement, self-pity and pessimism to contemplate on how blessed we are.

For we have Baders aplenty – unheralded – in this land. Most of their biographies are known, sadly, only to God and to those nearest and dearest to them.