Beyond the Checklist: Traveling with Respect and Reverence

Beyond the Checklist: Traveling with Respect and Reverence

At first glance, this note conveys a deep sense of gratitude toward those with a genuine interest in exploring the world, admiring the beauty and uniqueness of each nation’s traditions. Countries that proudly display their wonders carry not only picturesque vistas but also profound histories and rich cultural heritage—yet, sadly, these treasures too often become fodder for careless consumption. 

There exist places that are not theme parks, no matter how photogenic or trendy they may appear. Churches, temples, shrines, ancient ruins, even graves, demand respect. They are living testaments to a people’s beliefs and histories, not mere backdrops for a social media post or a passing glance. 

In Japan, signs like “No Circus Performance Here” or “No Hanging from Torii Gates” serve as gentle, yet firm, reminders of this principle. The torii gate, a graceful threshold from the ordinary into the sacred, carries profound spiritual meaning in Shinto practice. Those who disregard it—or worse, treat it as an object of entertainment—risk not only cultural insensitivity but a disconnection from the reverence the space commands. Observers might feel worry more than anger toward such transgressions, for it reflects a lack of awareness rather than malice. 

In fact, although customary etiquette prescribes appropriate behavior within shrine precincts, a legally binding code of conduct is also established by statute. Pursuant to Article 188 of the Penal Code, titled Desecration of Places of Worship; Interference with Religious Services, the following legal penalties are stipulated: “A person who openly desecrates a shrine, temple, cemetery or any other place of worship shall be punished by imprisonment for not more than six months or a fine of not more than 100,000 yen. A person who interferes with a sermon, worship or a funeral service shall be punished by imprisonment for not more than 1 year or a fine of not more than 100,000 yen.”

Often, such disregard arises from a superficial encounter—a visitor who professes spirituality yet is primarily motivated by aesthetic curiosity, or one who approaches without any belief or understanding at all. From a local perspective, however, the divine presences inhabiting these sacred spaces—whether gods, spirits, or ancestral beings—are not perceived as tolerant of irreverence or careless conduct. Within this worldview, even the torii gate is not merely an architectural symbol but a liminal threshold, a passage between the human and the divine realms, silently reminding all who cross it to proceed with humility and mindfulness. Consequently, shrines, like the torii themselves and other culturally significant sites, merit profound respect and preservation. They embody centuries of tradition, devotion, and collective memory, serving as living expressions of a community’s spiritual and cultural identity. To honor these spaces is to recognize the continuity between past and present, ensuring that future generations may experience the same sense of awe, reverence, and connection that their predecessors once felt. Therefore, travelers and visitors alike are urged to act with sensitivity, avoiding behaviors that may inadvertently diminish or dishonor the sacredness of the communities that protect and sustain these revered sites.

Or perhaps, to put it bluntly: if a tourist journey is undertaken solely for the sake of shopping, dining, beaches, nightlife, or other fleeting pleasures, travelers should recognize it for what it truly is: either respect it or leave them alone and focus on the intent from the bucketlist. There is no shame in seeking enjoyment, but such pursuits should not come at the expense of local life or traditions. The generation steeped in consumerism has reduced the significance of belief and its interpretations to little more than an aesthetic, secondary to material intent and conveniently labeled “enjoyment.” One might ask: do the majority of tourists really visit Thailand for the temples, ruins, and museums, or is it for the mall, the marijuana shop, the beach, and even the red-light district? The people who live in these places have invested their time, devotion, and care into preserving their culture, and they rightly expect visitors to tread lightly. To treat sacred temples, historic landmarks, or living cultural spaces as mere checklist items or brief stops along a superficial itinerary is to squander the rare opportunity for meaningful engagement. True travel is more than consumption; it is learning, observing, and connecting. It calls for patience, humility, and an awareness that each step in a foreign land carries weight. Respectful engagement ensures that cultural heritage remains alive, vibrant, and inspirational, rather than reduced to background scenery for passing amusement. 

Ultimately, the note urges travelers to embrace culture with humility and care. To do otherwise is to risk reducing centuries of history and spiritual practice to nothing more than a passing spectacle. Respect ensures that culture remains a source of inspiration, connection, and wonder for all who follow.  

Of Coup Rumors and the Crisis of Credibility: Between Loyalty and Opportunism amongst the “Men in Uniform”

Of Coup Rumors and the Crisis of Credibility:

Between Loyalty and Opportunism amongst the “Men in Uniform”

Recent coup rumors have once again stirred the political discourse in the Philippines, but the Department of National Defense (DND) has swiftly belied such claims, calling them "baseless," "unfounded," and "far removed from reality." Describing the talk of destabilization as “another desperate attempt” to sow discord among Filipinos, the department’s response underscores a growing frustration with those who continue to exploit national crises to forward personal or partisan agendas. 

The idea of a coup in the current climate seems not only implausible but also cynical. These rumors often link the country’s ongoing sociopolitical scandals—particularly those affecting both the administration and opposition—as a pretext to "restore" certain individuals to power. At the heart of this narrative is a concerning attempt to paint discontent as patriotism. However, beneath the surface, the movement appears less like a principled call to action and more like a coordinated power grab by disillusioned elites—retired generals, pseudo-partisan actors, and remnants of a regime that lost its moral legitimacy. 

Claims that the armed forces and police are siding with the past administration only serve to muddy the waters. Such assertions not only discredit the institutions that have sworn to protect the republic but also suggest a dangerous erosion of democratic norms. Invoking “patriotic” intent while backing whether the vice president or a potential “civil-military junta” is regressive. It evokes a time when executive power was wielded extrajudicially, often with the support of the military, to suppress dissent in the name of national stability. 

To be clear, the military today appears more concerned with asserting Philippine sovereignty in the face of external threats. Maritime cooperation with like-minded allies, joint and multilateral sails, and frequent military exercises both locally and abroad underscore this shift. The Army is undergoing significant restructuring, while the Navy and Air Force continue to modernize, acquiring new vessels, aircraft, and ammunition. These developments suggest that the armed forces are increasingly outward-looking—rightly channeling their nationalism toward defending territorial integrity rather than meddling in internal power plays. However, the military remains a microcosm of the broader society it serves. Within its ranks, there still exist factions clinging to a dated doctrine of internal security, one that prioritizes the protection of entrenched interests over the genuine welfare of the people. This mercenary tradition, rooted in historical alliances with political patrons, weakens the very oath to protect the republic. It fosters a mindset where political intervention, rather than democratic resilience, becomes a perceived solution to governance crises. 

The persistence of coup rumors is symptomatic of a deeper issue: a lack of institutional trust and a political culture that often turns to extralegal means in moments of instability. Such narratives gain ground not because they are plausible, but because scandal—especially when it touches both the ruling coalition and the opposition—leaves the public grasping for explanations, however conspiratorial. In truth, these rumors may not gain real traction. The public, while disillusioned, remains wary of repeating past mistakes. The military, despite its internal contradictions, has not signaled any coherent desire to return to the era of political adventurism. But the noise will persist—as it always does—particularly under a regime grappling with scandals that serve as political fodder for both sides of the aisle. 

In the end, national defense cannot be divorced from political responsibility. To truly uphold their oath, the armed forces must reject not only the act of destabilization, but also the lingering traditions that make such rumors even remotely credible. Democracy cannot be defended by those still entangled in nostalgia for authoritarian power. 

The Myth Behind the Coup Rhetoric 

To be fair, one cannot entirely blame the so-called plotters for being tempted to act amid rising public discontent. The country is, after all, grappling with yet another wave of sociopolitical scandals—rampant corruption, both at national and local levels, involving elected and appointed officials alike. Add to that the persistent reality of the state’s subservience to foreign and entrenched interests, and you begin to understand why the environment feels ripe for unrest. But the deeper question remains: are these alleged moves truly driven by patriotism and a genuine love for the people? Or are they, once again, a calculated power grab—one wrapped in the language of nationalism, using scandal as a convenient pretext to seize control? 

History gives this reader a clue. Past attempts at regime change under the guise of “patriotic duty” have too often revealed themselves to be hollow. Plotters and ideologues have promised new orders, only to offer fragmented solutions masked by patriotic-populist rhetoric. Decades ago, there were those who championed the call to “internalize the Filipino ideology,” anchored on political liberation, economic emancipation, and social unity. Noble as it sounds, this slogan was nothing new—it echoed the very ideology propagated during the Marcos dictatorship. That regime, too, claimed to be anti-oligarchic while nurturing its own network of cronies. It waved the flag of nationalism while aligning with foreign powers, especially the United States. It promised reform but upheld a system that enriched the ruling elite and unleashed state violence on the people. So what became of that promise of political liberation, economic emancipation, and social unity? It collapsed—not because the people lacked will, but because the regime's actions betrayed its words. And when the people finally rejected that order in 1986, what replaced it was a system that gradually embraced the neoliberal world order—globalization, privatization, deregulation—even when these came at the cost of national interests and social welfare. 

Today, people see echoes of that past in the present. The current climate of scandal and dysfunction has become fertile ground for opportunists—those who posture as patriots, but whose real motives are power, protection, and nostalgia for a discredited regime. These actors claim to defend the nation but offer no real alternative beyond blame games, disinformation, and calls to "restore order" through authoritarian means. Their version of patriotism is suspect: shallow, performative, and eerily trying to be that to the very kind of "radicalism" they once vilified—except theirs is devoid of substance, driven not by ideology but by resentment, revenge, and entitlement. However, their supposed “patrons” is mired in corruption scandals, and so are many of their allies. Yet they package their movement as a moral crusade. This is not patriotism. It’s political cosplay masquerading as national salvation. It's a bid to harness the frustration of the people not to uplift them, but to restore a regime known for bloodied policies and systemic abuse—all under the pretense of fixing a broken order. Yes, the people are discontented. Yes, the government is plagued by dysfunction. But what’s being peddled in the name of patriotism is just another version of elite capture—weaponizing nationalism to preserve the power of a few, not to serve the many. 

Until people learn to see through this rhetoric and demand not just change, but meaningful, inclusive reform rooted in accountability, history will keep repeating itself. Not as redemption—but as farce.  

The Urgent Need for Technological Transparency in Curbing Corruption

The Urgent Need for Technological Transparency in Curbing Corruption 

Now, discussions are turning to future technologies—but the pressing question remains: are the institutions and individuals involved prepared to confront the blunt reality that these tools reveal? 

The recent spate of corruption scandals in the Philippines has highlighted the urgent need for technological solutions that can enforce transparency and accountability. In a country where billions of pesos have disappeared into “ghost projects” and mismanaged funds, the limitations of traditional oversight mechanisms are glaringly obvious. Citizens are increasingly asking: how could such vast sums, funded by taxpayers, slip through the cracks so easily? How could systemic inefficiencies, negligence, or deliberate malfeasance go unchecked despite audits, reports, and supposedly strict regulations? 

One promising avenue lies in the adoption of blockchain technology. At its core, blockchain offers permanent, transparent, and verifiable records of transactions. Once a record is entered, it cannot be altered or erased without leaving a trace. This immutability, combined with decentralization, creates a system where corruption is not only harder to conceal but also easier to trace and audit. Applied to government procurement, land registries, supply chains, and other sectors prone to fraud, blockchain could dramatically reduce opportunities for embezzlement, bribery, or counterfeiting. By ensuring that records are automatically verifiable and publicly auditable, the technology fosters both accountability and trust. 

For Public Works and Highways Secretary Vince Dizon, adopting future technologies such as blockchain could play a crucial role in tracking government projects and ensuring transparency and accountability—especially given the magnitude of the challenge he inherited.

“It’s really unbelievable to me how corrupt this institution has become,” Dizon said. “The decay stems from a total lack of transparency. DPWH is a very decentralized organization; 300 district offices, 20,000 to 25,000 projects every year and no monitoring. Nobody has eyes on the process. They are their own little kingdoms, and they are the kings. But hopefully with this [blockchain], that will change.”

“Simply put, blockchain provides a lot of eyes on something. There are multiple eyes, and they don’t know each other. They can’t collude,” the Secretary added.

From his words, it is clear that adopting future technologies is part of a broader effort to reform institutions riddled with corruption such as the DPWH. “This is what the whole government needs, not just DPWH,” Dizon said. “From the budget process to procurement, to awarding contracts, to project implementation and payment; everyone should be watching.” 

Yet, technology alone is not a cure-all. Corrupt actors will inevitably seek new loopholes, and without proper governance, oversight, and political will, even the most sophisticated system can be undermined. Resistance is common, often disguised as skepticism about costs, feasibility, or the disruption of existing processes. History provides clear examples: Project NOAH, the government’s disaster-monitoring and early-warning initiative, was repeatedly underfunded and, at one point, cut despite its demonstrable value in predicting calamities and saving lives. If the state hesitates to invest in life-saving technologies, one can hardly expect wholehearted adoption of systems that could expose corruption. 

The stakes are high. Beyond financial losses, unchecked corruption erodes public trust, weakens institutions, and compromises development. Every peso siphoned away from public projects represents roads unbuilt, hospitals under-equipped, and citizens deprived of essential services. Future technologies like blockchain offer a pathway to restore credibility, but their adoption requires more than infrastructure—it demands courage, discipline, and an unwavering commitment to transparency from all levels of government. 

As the Philippines grapples with the fallout from DPWH ghost projects and other scandals, the nation faces a critical decision. Will it embrace future technologies fully, recognizing the uncomfortable truths they reveal, or will these innovations be treated half-heartedly, diluted by bureaucracy and cost concerns, leaving the door open for yet another cycle of inefficiency and fraud? 

The answer will define not just the fight against corruption, but the very nature of governance and public trust in the years to come.  

“Eye for an Eye: When Systemic Betrayal and the Moral Bankrupcy of Power Breeds Rebellion”

“Eye for an Eye: When Systemic Betrayal

and the Moral Bankrupcy of Power Breeds Rebellion”

By Kat Ulrike

Pardon for being too direct, for if crooks in the bureaucracy and in the legislature are able to abuse public trust and siphon off the people’s money with impunity, one might, regrettably, argue that the people themselves have a moral claim to reclaim what is theirs—akin to the infamous Tiflis bank robbery orchestrated under Stalin’s direction. Call it “eye for an eye” if you will; thank heavens society at large has mostly turned a blind eye to such impulses. Yet for the marginalized and the impoverished, who have endured endless exploitation and systemic neglect, the temptation to act may arise at any moment, far exceeding the unrest witnessed during the Mendiola riots amid the September 21 protest action. How could this note be written in such a way? At first glance, it may sound threatening, but it speaks to a reality the masses have long recognized: populism as practiced by the elite treats short-term fixes as mere “salves” to soothe popular anger without addressing the structural injustices beneath. The elites offer a loaf of bread in one hand, feigning concern and generosity, while the other wields a metaphorical big stick—the inconvenient truth that the people are meant to endure systemic injustice, cloaked under the guise of law. That bread represents temporary, superficial solutions, while the big stick symbolizes the harsh realities and punitive measures that reinforce the very inequalities they claim to remedy. 

Indeed, the populism the elite peddle is a hollow, pretentious performance, a tool for consolidating their own interests and, often, for lining their pockets amid the ever-present cycle of corruption scandals. For those who suffer the consequences of these betrayals—the scandals, the embezzlements, the abuses of power—the so-called “rule of law” may appear less like protection and more like a mechanism to enforce compliance while shielding the guilty. Meanwhile, the so-called “thinking class” continues to pontificate about the sanctity of the rule of law, insisting that justice must be pursued through orderly channels. But the masses, who shoulder the real cost of disorder and state incompetence, increasingly find themselves trapped in a liminal space of neither law nor heaven. They are implicated in every form of societal disruption, yet left unprotected against the systemic abuse that perpetuates their suffering. 

And as a concerned observer of this “neither law nor heaven” scenario, one cannot ignore that the people, pushed to the brink by systemic betrayal, may find justification in actions the state would label as “crime.” As Louise Michel said: “The people will rise. They may be oppressed, imprisoned, punished, but they will rise again, for injustice is intolerable.” When the structures meant to safeguard justice themselves perpetuate injustice, the moral line between legality and righteousness blurs. In such a context, popular outrage is not mere chaos—it is the predictable, human response to a society that has long ignored their suffering. And the state would be wise not to underestimate this potential for upheaval, for the consequences of ignoring both the abuses of the elite and the grievances of the masses may one day reach a scale that even the most powerful cannot contain. Of course they would hear to and fro the relevance of Gandhi's Amhisa, or Rizal's need for education and character building, but, reality becomes Malcolm X's "by any means necessarily"; and if they hear about Francis Magalona's "You can't talk peace and have a gun" end rather like Yasser Arafat's "Do not let the green branch fall from my hand" quote. 

The events of September 21 and the subsequent imprisonment of politically aware youth—dismissed by some as “used” or expendable—could easily become a spark, a catalyst for outrage. God forbid it comes to that, yet history and reality have repeatedly exposed the double standard: “The state calls its own violence law, but that of the individual, crime.” This hypocrisy is compounded by bureaucrats who, having siphoned the coffers of the people, turn around to arrest those who merely demand a loaf of bread. In such a climate of systemic theft masquerading as governance, acts of expropriation—what the state labels “thievery”—become not only foreseeable but, in the eyes of the oppressed, morally justified as peaceful demands and righteous anger be replied with repression- making the line between legality and righteousness blur. As Stalin once remarked, “The only real power is that which is seized and defended by force; property stolen from the exploiters is never theft.” Indeed, the very order the state claims to uphold risks igniting the disorder it professes to fear. 

If the people genuinely desire the rule of law to prevail, then the law must reflect the will of the people. Otherwise, it becomes little more than an opiate peddled by the elite—no different from the distractions of the media, the superficialities of the arts, or, in earlier times, the dogmas of religion—used to pacify the masses while consolidating power and protecting privilege. Law divorced from popular interest ceases to be a safeguard of justice; it becomes a tool of control, a veneer of legitimacy covering the systematic exploitation of those it claims to serve.