-Janet B. Abuel, average student/country girl/single mother/1998 bar topnotcher/lawyer

You (my law school classmates) make me want to tear my hair out!

Seriously, what is the matter with you?! I mean, I’m not Internet savvy, but even I have managed to find the assignment. Did you guys even try to research on it? By research I mean look in obvious places as to where it might be, and by try I mean actual attempt to find it. OMG. What did they teach you in your English classes, or in any class that required you to do research, for that matter – how to eat kamote? Didn’t you ever learn to use Google? Try typing key words in your search. Try typing the EXACT words: Bar Matter No. 209. If nothing shows up on the search list, you have my word I’ll never show up at school ever again. Not that I want to, anyway. I mean, I can’t even look at you without feeling embarrassed about you being there.

And I‘m supposed to be the bad guy because I didn’t share my copy with the rest of you? Does it really always have to be that way? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?

So I’m a geek. Get over your good-for-nothing arrogant selves. Try growing brains in your free time, and stop eating kamote!

I remember everything as if it were only yesterday. I was a freshman, already a converted realist but still pretty much a dreamer, and had just turned 22 and eager to learn more. My Consti1 teacher was young too, in his late twenties and a relatively new member of the bar. The similarities, unfortunately, ended there.

I was (and still am) a lover of creative learning; he was a devotee of the stricter methods of teaching. I panicked during recitations; he reveled in asking out-of-this-world questions. I scanned my book for support; he closed his and displayed impressive, unbelievable memory work. I checked my watch hoping the hours had gone by; he checked his watch to assess how quickly we can mumble the complete meaning of social justice. I felt faint after every encounter; he was as smug and as steady as ever.

Our classes were held every Saturday at 8-10am and 4-5pm. He deliberately fixed the schedule that way, in what I now realize was possibly an act of unexpected mercy on his part, because he said he knew our brains wouldn’t be able to take a three-hour-straight class and we needed the break to study. How right he was. Nevertheless, my classmates and I showed up session after session, braving the humiliation surely lying in store for us, and never complained (to his face, at least) when we had to wait for him for hours on end. We became a tight group, now and then reassuring one another that our minds were working perfectly, thank you very much, and that we weren’t the problem but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Despite devastating blows to our egos and our sense of worth, my classmates and I never gave up. If you were there when we took this subject, you’d see for yourself how we proudly carried the scars of war: eyebags infinity, balding hair for the men and thinning waistline for the women, shaking hands from caffeine overload and uncontrollable fear.

Indeed, the Consti1 experience, which thankfully did not include a cardiac arrest, is one I will never forget. Truly, what didn’t kill me only made me stronger.

Fast forward to a year-and-a-half later, he finally gave us our grades. Out of 20-25 students, only 6 passed. And for making me worthy of the honor of a dignified, historic (they say he rarely gives a mark higher than tres) 2.0, I thank my teacher, from whom I did learn a lot and who I respect more than what I allow myself to say (you, Sir, have taught me diligence, perseverance, faith -more than what the pages of our Political Law books and the walls of our classroom offered, and for this I thank you), and most importantly and above all, my God, without whom I am nothing. Thank You, Lord, for another miracle. Yours is the glory, Yours is my all.

This isn’t the first time that I got invited to anything, but it is the first time I got invited to serve the studentry. You see, service is just not my thing. Not the kind mandated by popular election, that is. And the fact that I only got invited to serve last night means that my inability is obvious to the whole world, too.

Ok, so I admit, I hate people. I do not like to be with people. I cannot stand people. I am at my absolute best when I do not have to be with people. I simply am not a people person. If I have not stressed this fact enough, or if my past blogs do not reek of this truth (they do, as I’m sure you’ve noticed), then allow me to elaborate some more.

Early on during childhood, I would distance myself from my siblings so that they would see me as someone different, someone distinct and above themselves, someone with authority that their peers do not have. When I got tired of writing poetry and working on my coloring books as if my life depended on them, I would decide to play with my siblings and our neighbors -only on the condition that I will not be touched in a game of tag or of patintero, that I will not be found in a game of hide and seek, and that I will be a fugitive in a game of cops and robbers. If any of these conditions were violated, I would walk out of the children-infested street and slam our house’s heavy front door with all my might. Inside my room I would try very hard not to cry about my disappointment in hard-headed kids who, as far as I was concerned, couldn’t grasp and follow simple rules. I would try very hard to compose myself and not die embarrasingly premature from frivolous frustration.

Then high school came. I had succeeded in graduating from primary school without getting attached to anyone among my peers. I was polite and even charismatic in some way, as teachers and classmates appeared to find me worthy of attention, but I was never friendly enough to make lasting bonds. I laughed with them, cried with them, made memories with them, then went home to write in my diary. It was different in high school because my family life went through some rough changes. My dad, who pampered me with praises and pressure, was assigned to a city all the way down in the archipelago. Dinner was never the same without him sitting on the head chair. We moved into a new house that was bigger, and his absence made it feel as empty as my heart. I realized I needed a lifeline, a support of sorts. I needed (gasp!) friends.

I made two. I was friendly with everyone, but was friends with only two. (There’s a difference between being friendly and being friends.) I laughed my heart out with them, cried my eyes out with them, made a whole lot of unforgettable memories with them, and with them I found another home. Not long after, my family had to move to reunite with my dad. I had to leave my friends and make new ones. I did make new ones, but during the interval, I realized I could still survive alone.

The cycle continued as I left home to have my grandest adventure -university. I never truly connected with anyone during my stay in the university save for a chosen few of my sorority sisters. We went through heaven and hell together, and for the sisterhood we will forever share I am thankful. But apart from my sorority life, I avoided socializing. I made real and enduring friendships outside of that circle, but they are too few to mention. In my general education courses they know me as the girl who’s always late. In my core courses they know me as the girl who perfected the exam and whose creative stories got read out loud in class. In my major courses they know me as the girl the teacher’s pets love to hate. It still hurts a little (fine, on bad days it hurts a lot) to think about how low some students had to stoop down just to feel that they’re better (they’re really not, please lang), but when I think about it as honestly as I can, it’s safe to conclude that it was all because of my lack of interest to promote myself and do PR. As much as I hate rumors, I hate trying to correct the stories to a pool of uncomprehending stares even more. There is something so explicitly miserable about having to explain oneself -and this philosophy I stubbornly carry with me up to this day.

(It may be important to note that during university, I found the one soul who understood me without question. And so I found contact with other humans a necessity no more, which is another way of saying I went to hide farther in my hard, cold, selfish little shell. )

I will never get the votes needed for election. I am not popular for the right reasons. I do not smile the right way. I do not stop to talk with strangers on my way to class. I do not kiss ass, nor do I rub elbows with the filthy rich and infamous. I do not argue with people whose views are so different from mine; I do not agree, either, with people who do not know their arguments -I simply look straight ahead without blinking, or nod, whichever I feel is less rude at the moment, and go on to scrutinize my fingernails. I do not have what it takes to be liked, trusted, and needed in the showbiz world of politics.

As somebody important (never mind who) once said, half of being smart is knowing what you’re dumb at. I am at a loss when it comes to dealing with the populace, and for me to admit this shows growth that makes me believe I can be better. I can change. I can run.

But I won’t. Because it’s NOT my thing.

Republic Act 9372, titled as “An Act To Secure The State and Protect Our People From Terrorism,” took effect on July 15, 2007. Its enaction was prompted not only by global accounts of terrorism, but more importantly, by growing acts of terrorism committed within the country by terrorist groups whose cruel intolerance and inhumane disregard for others’ lives -or deaths (as these persons mutilate dead bodies for reasons only the devil can understand) they disgustingly justify as sacred mandate from their god.

Human rights groups insist, apparently without comprehending the whole text of the law, that the law endangers certain rights of the citizens. The law does no such thing; on the contrary, it provides numerous safeguards from abuse on the part of government officers responsible for the surveillance, arrest, detention, delivery, etc. of persons accused of, charged with, or suspected of terrorism. Such government officers are more likely to be punished with imprisonment than terrorists being captured at all, for if I were an officer, I would hesitate, nay, I would be afraid to even suggest someone to be a terrorist lest I be stripped of my uniform and be sent to jail. The law also provides for a Php500,000 indemnity for persons who are maliciously or wrongly accused of the crime of terrorism. Again, if I were an officer, I would think a million times before I even hint that so-and-so is a terrorist. I would quiver in fear. I would forget about capturing the bad guys because, hell, there is no reward for capturing the bad guys, only a whole lot of trouble for what could have been a simple mistake.

No, I do not agree with the arguments of these biased (where were their loud voices when our soldiers were beheaded?) so-called human rights groups. And I do not agree with the lawyer-journalists who invoke constitutionality as basis for a decalration of nullity.

Even if, hypothetically and for purposes of discussion, there were rights by the citizens trampled upon by this new law, doesn’t the very nature of the crime sought to be prevented call for such trampling upon of rights? The crime of terrorism is a crime against national security (RA 9372, in its declaration of policy, calls terrorism a crime against the Filipino people, against humanity, and against the law of nations), to which the State gives the highest regard. In crimes against national security, the very existence of the State is endangered, thus, certain rights of the citizens must yield to the right of the State to prevent itself -and the people -from being annihilated, from being destroyed. The police power, inherent as it is, allows the State to regulate the rights of its subjects in everyday situations, and when the crime is as heinous as terrorism, the State must enforce a stricter regulation. We do not have to be Constitutional Law students to get this. It is simple logic. It is bare necessity.

The law defines terrorism as an act, using as means to commit it the crimes of piracy, rebellion, coup d’etat, etc., that sows and creates a condition of widespread and extraordinary fear and panic among the populace, in order to coerce the government to give in to an unlawful demand. The noisy, cocky people out to sabotage the country say it is a very subjective definition, but let us not forget that terrorism is a subjective term. It is submitted that the law has defined the act as best as it probably could, taking into consideration the fact that terror -panic and fear -is the aim of terrorism (hence the name, doofus). Lawyers who keep fussing about the definition seem to conveniently ignore the fact that so many other laws have more serious and substantive flaws to the point of ridicule. How do they want terrorism to be defined? How many more acts of terrorism do they want to go unpunished, screaming as they do to have the law declared null and void by the Supreme Court?

If there’s anyone who might be caused injustice by this law, it is us, good citizens, and the government itself. The law appears to undermine itself as it overflows with relenting safeguards that might prove to promote the crime and render the law toothless.

If the Supreme Court does decide to have the law abolished, my only hope is that the legislature will choose to make a stronger law, a law that will urge the police, instead of hindering them, to fight our nation’s adversaries, a law that, ultimately, will not be afraid of the crime it seeks to prevent and/or punish. My only hope is that we will win the war against terrorism, and that we will win it soon enough.