Our damaged, dorobo culture

The infamous quote of social commentator James Fallows issued during the time of martial law – that Filipinos have a damaged culture – is given further shrift in the tongue-half-in-cheek reference material “Corruptionary” (published by Center for People’s Empowerment in Governance as part of the UP Centennial), a dictionary of various terms relating to corruption in the wide-sweeping Philippine setting. That Fallows was a foreigner commenting on an all too familiar native situation did not spare him from the expected patriotic brickbats; some amount of flak, however, is expected to come the way of those who put together this book – some say a bit rushed – mostly leftist elder statesmen and political science majors of the UP Manila as research arm.

For a reference material of supposedly high satire, Corruptionary strikes the reader as taking itself a little too seriously. The laughs, if you can call it that, indeed come few and far between, many of the terms are in fact dated and already part of the everyday lexicon, while a good number were culled from the national broadband network (NBN) hearings that had a slew of personalities mouthing colorful language.

Even the drawings are slightly better than fundamental, too large and literal, even a cartoonist of a high school paper would have more imagination. And the humor falls flat, feels forced, giving vent to a long-time suspicion – the last refuge of scoundrels of whatever political leaning is corn.

Still, Corruptionary is helpful reference material, especially on terms we had only the slightest inkling of. Buwayas we have learned to live with and accepted as part of everyday reality, but dorobo? It’s a term that has a nice roll on the tongue, even sounds like an entry in Borges’ Book of Imaginary Beings; e.g., “As to the dorobo, no one has actually seen it with the naked eye, so quick is this undesirable fellow that he sells stolen goods to make a double profit... ”

In meat there is such a thing as double dead; dorobo on the other hand is double theft.

Through this unique reference book too we get acquainted with the many different names given to our currency, again depending on the amount of legal tender. Arrovo referring to a 100-peso bill is endemic to the present administration, since the misspelled name of the President was printed on several soon-to-be-collectible bills.

Tito, Vic & Joey referring to a 1,000-peso bill was new to us but made sense, a trinity of different persuasions if not dimensions.

There are some given Cebuano-Visayan words, such as ginagmay and pamahilog, the latter of which a native speaker said was a likely error, should have been pamalihog, from palihog, or please.

One word we missed, which may not have anything to do with the culture of corruption but sounds as good as dorobo, is hunghang. We’re not sure what it means except that it’s worthy of etymological research.

Then the NBN-ZTE inquiry terms come to roost, which may have convinced the compilers to come out with the book post-haste: bubukol, greedy group plus plus, hamborjer, sec may 200 ka dito, moderate your greed, back off, patriotic money.

Bubukol is a patented Lozadaism that has confounded translators in newsrooms around Metro Manila: does it mean hump, lump or bump?

Hamborjer has spawned another outlet of the (in)famous hamburger joint Ben’s Diner in Wack Wack, this time in more accessible Barangka Drive also in Mandaluyong, called Ben’s Burjer, which never seems to run out of customers falling in line to sample the tasty patties.

Back off begs more etymological analysis, as the words Joey de Venecia said the First Gentleman had admonished him with, almost like the Tasmanian devil caratula over the spare tire on the rear of a sports utility vehicle.

As noted earlier, the drawings are rudimentary, though having their own unassuming, unobtrusive charm.

A  better study of words in vogue can be had in the annual “Sawikaan” released by a language center of the University of the Philippines, which has researchers and linguists holding seminars and delivering papers to select a word of the year as well as corresponding runners-up, not just on corruption but anything that affects the lives of Filipinos deep in the technology driven 21st century, words like lowbat and load, miskol and friendster. The chosen words are punctuated by photos of models for apt visuals, certainly a more classy undertaking.

Which is not really to disparage the obvious effort that went into the making of Corruptionary, its signal publication should in fact give the creeps to the present administration. It may not inspire an Edsa 4 or 5, or a facsimile thereof, but its finding a place in book shelves speaks volumes on how the general public view the present state of affairs in this country: no one in power is credible anymore, and it’s all the people can do from sinking into a cynicism of no return.

However, this reference material at times assumes too much: not every policeman, government office worker, congressman, palace official or functionary, judge or barangay captain is corrupt. Many of them are, to be sure, and that explains why there’s a Corruptionary in the first place.

If our culture is so damaged, how long will it be until our own language will in itself be corrupted? That will be the end of us when that happens.

Fortunately, Corruptionary, despite its rough cut and through the hermeneutics and semiotics of academe, serves us fair warning.