[Oe List ...] Jaime for ST Wednesday Sept. 10

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Military culture


 
Two institutions determined how I ladled my soup in myyouth.  First, there was West Point offar away America but close to Pinoy imagination.  The second was the Philippine MilitaryAcademy in Baguio where shorter versions of cadets at West Point bugledthemselves on and off barracks.  It wasmy mother's fascination with both that got my siblings and I to scoop soup withengineering precision.
 
The posture called for a straight back, head up and eyes front,left hand on the lap, right hand on the soup spoon (lefties were deemed sissy)dipping it on the bowl, perpendicularly lifting the spoon to the level of one'slips, then moving it to the mouth for the in-pouring.  Reverse the movement for the next dip.
 
I did not understand this when we were young in SanchezMira, Cagayan where my friend's Papa at his house sat on his stool with hisundershirt rolled up to the chest, left foot on the bar of the chair and leftelbow on the raised knee, knuckled fist on the cheek as he slurped his soupstraight from the bowl.  Ladle was forwimps, he said.  I tried the gesture onceat my house.  My mother asked:  Ano ka,intsik? (What are you, Chinese?)  The Hakka merchants in town were not knownfor finesse in public appearance, let alone, dining.
 
It was not until I was four when mother took us to mygreat aunt's house in Laoag, Ilocos Norte that I understood the import of themilitary tradition on the dining room. She was married to the youngest elected Governor of the Province ofIlocos Norte, a personal friend of President Quezon who disappeared during thewar while fighting the Japanese in the mountains.  While on the run, great aunt was captured andthe Governor was declared MIA shortly thereafter.  His body was never found but my great aunt retaineda mystique that made political wannabes trek to her house for her blessingsbefore tossing hats (no ribbons) into the electoral ring.
 
It was around her dining table where I noticed the militaryladle.  There were stiff uniforms aroundthe table.  My Uncle was aide to a youngSenator Ferdinand Edralin Marcos.  Theonly son of the late Guv, Roquito (the late Guv was Roque) also got elected topublic office.  A Major named Fidel EdralinRamos who attended West Point also graced the table.
 
My brothers grew wanting to join the military service, andto the credit of Uncle politico, he did not assist hard enough, though as anational legislator, he could have recommended either of them to PMA.  I was averse to guns and commands so I wasout of the picture.  
 
I skipped ROTC on my first two years of College but Ineeded two years of it to graduate so I donned a uniform on my last two yearsin College.  My school was short ofofficers, and being the student council president and later the school papereditor, I was offered a First Louie ranking to escort the band majorette onparades.  She was a bit on the plump sidebut oh, so good-looking.  I acceded.
 
As one of the officers, I took a test administered to some20K officers across the country to train as a pilot with the Air Force.  Three hundred of us were notified to appearat the Air Force Base near Manila for physical, finally paring 75 invited toenlist for training.   The come-on wasthe possibility of training on the US Air Force's F-4 in Colorado Springs,should we qualify.  Heady stuff for ayoung mind to process.
 
The Vietnam War heated up and the signs of violent times wereon the wall.  Mactan Air Base in theVisayas supported US operations.  Thegirls at the Manila Air Base were smart looking and they thought we were notbad looking either.  But I was ambivalentre pilot training and when the recruiting officer mentioned that if we declinedto enter the incoming class, we had a second option on the next one, Ipostponed deciding.
 
Today, everywhere in the world, it is the military that isexpected to maintain order when chaos prevails, preferably led by Sandhurst orWest Point grads, though an Ecole Militairewill do, too, as Ecole Polytechnique producedbetter engineers (and MIT would surpass the cadets by the Hudson).  I did not follow the course.
 
Things moved fast.   Thanks to USIS, 50-some student leaders in a six-weeksojourn at Rizal's Retiro Park in Mindanaoin the first YMCA Rizal Youth Leadership Training Institute became conversant onthe contradictions and promises of democracy, of socialism, and of communism.  
 
In between semesters, eyeing a career in civil law, I joinedan Asian Christian Youth Assembly at Silliman University in Dumaguete City in'64 where I saw Vatican II's import and the ground swell of oikumene. In '65, the US got sucked into a skirmish its military-industrialcomplex was raring to jump into in Vietnam. My soul shifted to canon law, and journeyed akin to Nikos Kazantzakis' Saviors of God.  
 
I was an adult by assignment at ten; at twenty, I becamean adult by choice!  I sailed under SF'sGolden Gate in '65 leaving my short pants in Pea Eye.  I ladled my soup my own way from then on.

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