SM Will Turn Luneta Hill Into a Deadland By Michael A. Bengwayan

SM Will Turn Luneta  Hill  Into a Deadland

By Michael A. Bengwayan 

SM Will Turn Luneta Hill Into a Deadland
By Michael A. Bengwayan

Luneta Hill in Baguio is a historic site and the only place at the Central Business District that has a pine forest of almost three hundred pine trees old pine trees and other introduced tree species. Its contribution to oxygen production and cleaning smog particulates, carbon sequestration and groundwater holding capacity cannot be refuted, as well as its importance in preventing floods and mudslides.

But what is happening to the hill? SM is killing it and sooner rather than later, the hill will be a deadland.

Not so many years from now, this is what we will see. The security fences will one day be gone. The immense car parks abandoned. Inside, beyond the barricaded doors, the escalators are warped and decayed into terrifying reptilian shapes; beneath the caved-in roof among the broken glass and the smashed tiles, eerie ferns and shadow plants have sprouted. What remnants of signage and advertisements haunt the walls; that the entire place is like some gothic fantasy of the end of the world.

That is because, that is how deadmalls will be. Outside, there are no trees, the last chopped down and replaced with concrete to the last inch to accommodate every possible shopper. The air will not be fresh and welcoming but polluted, humidity-inviting and smog-filled.

The death of a mall in the city will be a symbol of something inherently flawed, disturbed and dormant within our generation. A symbol of our ambivalence towards all things political; or maybe a call to action. A symbol of failed leadership. And citizens obsessed with retail and consumerism.

I and our children were targeted by SM as its first generation consumers of its products in pushing the newly globalised world economy. We became a crucial part of that first surge of globalisation; it formed connections and synapses within our child-minds; we had money to spend. In a one stop shop and forgot our local shops that have provided our needs over the years. SM is an example of the myths, propaganda and big money of business hegemony, infiltrating and taking over Baguio City.

In the years now and to come, the damage that SM will do to shops at a radius of not even 5 kilometers will be tremendous. SM factors the amount of ‘leakage’ they can get from surrounding areas into their development plans. SM is vampiric.

The death of the mall is imminent. Becuase it killed trees and still plan to do so, people will start abandoning the mall. In fact, as I write, I keep getting reports only lowlanders visit the mall, only few Baguioites do. And SM will have to face competition with internet retailers like Amazon that’s forcing malls into closure; But there is something else that will be their undoing, neither is it the recession. It is something endemic to the nature of the unregulated development that spawns malls: market saturation. Vampirism will lead SM out of business.

It will only stop if they stop killing trees now, respect Baguio for what it is and restructure their urban fabric, as well as respect local history rather than their concrete global homogeneity.

The Blue Collar Initiative (BCI) -- Caring for the the Earth, Promoting Livelihood, Reliving Sustainable Gardening Traditions

The Blue Collar Initiative (BCI)

-- Caring for the the Earth, Promoting Livelihood, Reliving Sustainable Gardening Traditions

The Blue Collar Initiative (BCI) is an effort to promote environmental livelihood and conservation through enterprises that promote the FORESTATION AND LIVELIHOOD YOUTH MOVEMENT (FLIYM)

It starts from the ranks of young volunteers who are into earth care–especially on tree planting safe food production. It will be a movement EMPOWERED by the YOUTH. One that will not only ensure REFORESTATION but also provide LIVELIHOOD.

As the region, in particular, and the nation, in general comes into grips with the stark negative environmental realities, it is time for the YOUTH to make their mark, and not only walk their talk. That change must come from them.

The mission of the FLIYM is to empower young people to take responsibility for the environmental and livelihood well-being of their communities. they have entrusted it too long to the older generation and look what it brought them?

The vision is to bridge communication across culture, region, education, and socio-economic backgrounds through collaboration on ecologically and socially responsible environmental enterprises for the Cordillera region. It will be done through sustainable leadership training and the development of for-profit social enterprises funded through microfinancing and resource-sharing.

To be run by the Cordillera Ecological Center other wise know as PINE TREE (Project Initiating Employment and Education), it will have three main projects:

1) Forestation-sustainable agriculture home-based industries that will train youth in sustainable agriculture. They will practice traditional home gardens and plant trees in agricultural areas across in the Cordillera region to arrest soil erosion, improve soil and plant crops to rejuvenate the Cordillera region’s agricultural economy and environment.

2) A hands-on school where students can study regardless of their financial background, that incorporates human values and leadership into its fabric.

3) A market conduit to promote the trainees products so that these can be known and sold (agricultural and artisanal), to stimulate the local economy crowded out by excess importation.

Join us. Write to pinetreephill@gmail.com to know the first class that will be run. Also see: https://www.facebook.com/BlueCollarInitiative or go to: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Atreeaday/

Of God, Trees and Life By MICHAEL A. BENGWAYAN

Of God, Trees and Life
By MICHAEL A. BENGWAYAN


On a windy sunny Wednesday last week, I stopped sowing seeds and stretched my back for a much needed rest as I wiped the dirty sweat from my brow. I glanced at the nearby forest which greets me daily. It is suffused with beauty. Nature calls upon me to stop and give thanks for the glory of God's creation. I am fortunate as I am surrounded with pine, alder, Calliandra, Flemingia and many indigenous trees I can’t really identify. Their colorful blossoms: blush red and pink flowers, the leaves adorned with yellow, brown and reddish hues are just amazing at this time of the year. Even when on my desktop computer, I take a moment to leave the confines of my room and house to my garden and drink in this beauty and give thanks.

I have many lemon trees bearing fruit, passion fruits falling to the ground and red ripe Spanish tomatoes painting the backyard. Each summer, my family gathers in the yard and recite a prayer of blessing on first seeing these fruits with the wild roses racing with anthurium reds and pinks that snuggle against the coffee red and orange berries.. They are a thing to behold.

We look at our plants in a context where we can feel inspired by the glory of God because we feel God's love for mankind and can give thanks for it.

We give thanks to God for creating trees from which man can take pleasure. The delight of the beauty we see is available to all kinds of people - even the most impoverished person or debased criminal is treated to the same beauty as anyone else, as he traverses the world.

When seeing a tree, which was during the rainy season was withering against the storm and rains, but now in full bloom, we, and even the most hopeless person, can be revitalized. When we watch the transformation of nature, we gain the courage and inspiration to lift us out of our despair and it reminds us that God has given us the tools to revitalize ourselves.

We live in a time when it's a struggle to keep hope alive. The trees in our neighborhoods, whether fruit-bearing or simply deciduous, reminds us of what and how beautiful the world has been before our stupid so called technologies, started killing most of these. All that is decent in mankind seems to be up against forces so irrational and evil that peace seems to be beyond what any human leader can negotiate.

And yet trees give us a message of hope. They show us how after a period of barren emptiness, there is a stirring of life and a new beginning, how even in the seeming barrenness of the winter of our lives, the process is already in motion which will usher in the flowering of a new season. A God who can bring blossoms to a barren tree can bring an era of redemption. Our tradition calls us out to the fields, so we can bear witness to the way God loves all mankind, whether we deserve it or not. We give thanks, and perhaps a silent prayer, with a flutter in our hearts full of hope, that an era of redemption will sprout as the barren branches give forth blossoms, and we and our children will live to see an era of peace.

Break of Day...By Michael A. Bengwayan, Ph D

 

BREAK OF DAY

There is nothing more wondrous, more miraculous and mysterious than watching the break of day. I wake up refreshed, my troubles forgotten temporarily, body renewed, strength regained. I have a fresh mind hopeful for a fresh start. But to glance at the brightening day, slowly pushing off darkness to the twilight zone can instill that much needed push to face the world. I glance at the first sunbeams stealing through the filtering pine needles, brightening every leaf until the unseen forest floor.

The once-shrouded tree shadows dance and spring to life as  gentle sun rays erupt and blanket the horizon. I sit and watch beauty,  mystery,  miracle at its best.

Every minute fresh green leaves become golden; pink, red and yellow flowers glisten in carpet display as soft sunlight touches the dew that slept overnight. Birds awaken and a chorus begins..bees and butterflies all in motion, seemingly unknowing where to go or what to do.

The lemon trees heavy with fruits kiss the ground in sweet praise and surrender as Rhode Island Red roosters' crow puncture the air. This is morning breaking. The beginning of another promise. There are shades of rainbow colors all over the ground wanting to be touched.

I glance my daughters'  rooms, slowly being flooded by sunlight and their sleepy heads still on pillows unmindful of the magnificence nor the consequences of being late --in school, at work.  I too forget that I am cooking.

Above all the beauty, a pitcher's toss away stood King Kong, king of Longlong, peering at me through the sunlight with questioning eyes.

It is this special and one of a kind phenomenon that happens daily in my terrace view and nothing else can come close to comparison. Yet every day seems better, each sight more beautiful, each moment more priceless.

The sun's embracing warmth against the nippy morning air, the cool pine-scented breeze  and sky painted by the Master Painter Himself are unmatched.

Kings will pay the most expensive ransom for such a scene. Poets will dream to put it in their minds and words..

And it is just there for me everyday. Free. For all my taking.

 

Know Your Past By Michael A. Bengwayan Ph. D

Know Your Past

By Michael A. Bengwayan Ph. D

My daughter Frances once asked ‘Who are we Pa?” I paused and looked at her. I wanted to repeat what was told to me decades ago by my great grandma.  But I dared not. We were the people of the rich valleys, lush and thick forests; of the clear and prestine waters.  We were once true to The Way.

But then everything changed. Slowly, outsiders came.  A giant called “guvmint”came. Followed by others with forked tongues. Without hesitation, these took the lands. They had papers showing they own the lands. Lands that own us. Some of us were forced out to give up the lands forever—the valleys, homes and mountains. In (Ambuklao) Bokod, (Binga) Itogon, Mankayan, Boneng, Tublay, Tuba,  the people were forced to move to the setting sun, leaving a trail of tears. Not that our brothers and sister Ibalois cried when they were forced out. But the trail spoke of the sorrows of those who stood and walked in that trail.

All they did not leave though. Some, skilled in the ways of the mountains, fled back into the bosoms of the hollows and lived there. They farmed on the mountains, hunted, set up traps, planted and dug sweetroot from the ground. They fished with their hands under the banks of the cold creeks, and moved as silent as shadows. A people who were there but not seen nor heard.

In this rich Benguetland, slowly but surely as if evilly-designed, people called “poltishuns” and some called “eduketed” came. They did not love the freedom of the mountains and pines. They lusted for land and profit. They were bigger than the ogre “guvmint”. With their arrival, the century of our early Ibalois started to die. The time of surviving became more depressing.

I looked at my daughter. In her blood runs the strength and courage of the once-warring and head-hunting Bontoc warriors; her heart the peaceful, kind,  patient and humble heart of the Ibalois; and the perseverance of the Ibanags. There would be a new century for them. There would be a time for blood, fighting and death. It will be a new world. But she will be fighting different enemies. Like here sister Phyllis before her, she has chosen to fight diseases that will plague mankind. Like her elder sister Grail who is fighting ignorance by teaching so that our people will not be cheated by the giant “guvmint”.   Like her sister Abigail much ahead of her who is fighting for human rights. And; like her brother Michael Jr. ahead of her who is fighting retrogress using science and technology.

I looked far out in the mountains beyond our home, towards the west. The sun was setting, the tree spirits were rising. You couldn’t tell if it was the wind that whispered as it swooshed across the bent pines. I walked out of sight of the rims of the mountain Frances a step behind. I could feel the past spirits on the talking fingers of the trees. The sun was setting, I heard a mourning crow just above. My ancestors lived fully in these hills. But the hills will not be here long. Just a sight away, I could see destruction by a housing company called Go----en  as its machines plowed the land under unmindful of death it is causing.

Slowly we walked home in silence. Frances gripping  my hand.

Know Your Past By Michael A. Bengwayan Ph. D

Know Your Past

By Michael A. Bengwayan Ph. D

My daughter Frances once asked ‘Who are we Pa?” I paused and looked at her. I wanted to repeat what was told to me decades ago by my great grandma.  But I dared not. We were the people of the rich valleys, lush and thick forests; of the clear and prestine waters.  We were once true to The Way.

But then everything changed. Slowly, outsiders came.  A giant called “guvmint”came. Followed by others with forked tongues. Without hesitation, these took the lands. They had papers showing they own the lands. Lands that own us. Some of us were forced out to give up the lands forever—the valleys, homes and mountains. In (Ambuklao) Bokod, (Binga) Itogon, Mankayan, Boneng, Tublay, Tuba,  the people were forced to move to the setting sun, leaving a trail of tears. Not that our brothers and sister Ibalois cried when they were forced out. But the trail spoke of the sorrows of those who stood and walked in that trail.

All they did not leave though. Some, skilled in the ways of the mountains, fled back into the bosoms of the hollows and lived there. They farmed on the mountains, hunted, set up traps, planted and dug sweetroot from the ground. They fished with their hands under the banks of the cold creeks, and moved as silent as shadows. A people who were there but not seen nor heard.

In this rich Benguetland, slowly but surely as if evilly-designed, people called “poltishuns” and some called “eduketed” came. They did not love the freedom of the mountains and pines. They lusted for land and profit. They were bigger than the ogre “guvmint”. With their arrival, the century of our early Ibalois started to die. The time of surviving became more depressing.

I looked at my daughter. In her blood runs the strength and courage of the once-warring and head-hunting Bontoc warriors; her heart the peaceful, kind,  patient and humble heart of the Ibalois; and the perseverance of the Ibanags. There would be a new century for them. There would be a time for blood, fighting and death. It will be a new world. But she will be fighting different enemies. Like here sister Phyllis before her, she has chosen to fight diseases that will plague mankind. Like her elder sister Grail who is fighting ignorance by teaching so that our people will not be cheated by the giant “guvmint”.   Like her sister Abigail much ahead of her who is fighting for human rights. And; like her brother Michael Jr. ahead of her who is fighting retrogress using science and technology.

I looked far out in the mountains beyond our home, towards the west. The sun was setting, the tree spirits were rising. You couldn’t tell if it was the wind that whispered as it swooshed across the bent pines. I walked out of sight of the rims of the mountain Frances a step behind. I could feel the past spirits on the talking fingers of the trees. The sun was setting, I heard a mourning crow just above. My ancestors lived fully in these hills. But the hills will not be here long. Just a sight away, I could see destruction by a housing company called Go----en  as its machines plowed the land under unmindful of death it is causing.

Slowly we walked home in silence. Frances gripping  my hand.

A Walk, Like What Trees and Bees Do, Is Learning to Survive
By Michael A. Bengwayan

(Written for The Ecologist, April, 2012)

It was a nice, soft morning today. the sun was up quicker than I thought so after a run, I decided to walk. There were silhouetted reflections on the dry road as soon as each breeze breathed so I was awash with fresh calm air that started to dry my wet shirt. The day was as smooth as morning water.

Overhead, the sky was blue, carrying big white cotton clouds reminiscent of a giant feather bed but on the horizon Cumulus cauliflower-like clouds threatened the afternoon. The leaves of the Alnus japonica are in full form while the young pine trees' fascicles are starting to clamber up. The leaves of a pine tree are evergreen needles, which grow from the branches in bundles (fascicles). The number of needles in each bundle is a key to pine tree identification. For example, the Benguet pine (Pinus insularis) has needles of mostly three but in rare cases four to five. Spruce pine (Pinus glabra) which I observed in the US has needles in bundles of twos, while the eastern white pine (Pinus globrus) has bundles of five needles each emerging from its branches. The needles differ in length and texture, with some long and rigid. others, like our Benguet pine, soft but taut.

I am walking at a road leading to Longlong Communal Forest in La Trinidad, Philippines. I just passed a small orchard that has a half a dozen orange and coffee trees. Before the road forked, I enter the forest fringes and ran smack into highbush blueberry shrubs. The blueberries are to my left and just entering full blossom and this brandy wine apple in front of me is in full flower. There are perhaps fifty painted lady butterflies that have been attracted to the nectar, now in full swing, on the berry blossoms. They dance from pink blossom to blossom, staying long enough to collect this sweet juice and unintentionally carrying pollen that will help to produce the apple fruit. This yearly ritual is a perfect example of symbiosis between a plant an animal. The butterfly needs the nectar for survival, the berry needs the pollination for future generations.

There was a time before flowering plants when spore producing plants dominated the plant world. Some ferns, horsetails, and clubmoss plants were huge. These plants, known as allies, could reach tree size; some being hundreds of feet tall. During the Carboniferous era, some 370 million years ago, these plants were the primary botanical residents on a very volatile Earth. This volatility helped to form their reproductive system that utilized spores that fell onto the soil. These spores grew into nonchlorophytic plants that developed beneath ground level.

It was these nonchlorophytic plants that bred and formed the green vascular plant that rooted itself in the earth and grew into this warm, even hot, carbon filled atmosphere. It is the remains of these plants from which we get our crude oil and gas reserves today. The advantage these plants had was the earthen buffer during their breeding cycle. Subterranean development of each new plant was a decided advantage in an era of volcanoes, earth quakes, and a heavy gaseous atmosphere.

About a hundred and fifty million years later flowering plants appeared. The atmosphere was much more settled; insects, mammals, and birds abound and dinosaurs rule but will completely disappear in the next five, or so, million years. The earth, as we know it today, has begun. Codependent relationships between plants and animals continue to develop, ever so slowly, and the blueprint was set for what we have today.

All of these strange and overwhelming facts run through my head as I stare at the wild strawberry blossoms. I am witnessing nothing less than a miracle and I am awed that what seems so simple is the result of the most complicated series of events imaginable. The wisdom of our planet is found in its sheer ability to change with time; almost endless time considering our planet is four and a half billion years old.

One recent change is the tremendous decline in honey bees. These imported bees were our primary pollinators for the last fifty years but as I stand here I can see a few bumble bees, a few mason bees, and a few miner bees along with the painted lady butterfly working the nectar in the apple blossoms. We are likely all aware that there has been a world wide bee colony collapse when it comes to the honey bee populations. It is a matter of grave concern for those in agriculture. While it is true that many crops are wind pollinated, for instance almost everything in the grass family like corn, it is also true that many of our flowering crops are dependent on natural insect pollinators. Bee colony collapse has been going on for about ten years. It has been the subject of serious study.

Some of the planet’s best ecologists and entomologists have been dedicating their careers to solving this mystery and we still do not know the cause. One major theory suggests that honey bees have lost their genetic diversity. This may have been caused by large bee breeders that took over the markets and lessened the genetic stock. Another theory blames the collapse on pesticides and herbicides. One study within the pesticide theory suggests that bees are getting lost and not returning to their hive because the chemicals somehow impact their homing instincts and leave the bees in a state of confusion. There is no absolute proof of the cause of this terrible malady yet but it is very serious turn of events and should not be taken likely.

The fact is that for millions of years wild bees did all of the necessary pollination for the natural world. These creatures can do the job for at least some of our crops, unless of course, wild bees become effected by whatever is causing bee collapse as well. New evidence points to this being a very real possibility. Here in the Philippines, there is a strong decline in bumble bee populations, likely caused by insecticides.

I take a deep breath and look around me. The blossoms, all pink and white, fill the air with a sweet aroma. Wild bees and butterflies fly from flower to flower in pursuit of their nectar. The sky is still blue. The trees are still green. And the birds are still singing.

And at this precise point in time I am happy to appreciate the moment. Life is beautiful.

But I can’t stop wondering what the future holds for these plants that depend on insect pollinators for future generations.

Thor's Thunder A Reminder by Michael A. Bengwayan

Thor's Thunder  A reminder
By Michael A. Bengwayan

A few seconds before dead of the night, it came. Lightnings on the east followed by rolling thunder like God playing bowling. The sky trembled, the world moved and pandemonium started to break loose. the typhoon's shafts of lightning and roars of thunder have come. The stormy season is here. And will be for a long time.  

I looked out, nay peered, is most likely. Cold pulses of air stab through the thick blanket of humidity that lays on this region like a wet feather mattress. Even on the northwest side of this mountain I can see moist air being lifted by sinking cold air that forces the the dank atmosphere skyward. The battle between these two atmospheres creates static and I can feel the hair standing up on my arm as if I’d just seen a ghost. There will be a thunderstorm today no doubt; but there are unanswered questions. Where? When? How bad?
King Kong , the king of Longlong, my five year old German Shepherd is nervous, and hides in my office. My cat Cooper stands on the deck with his nose in the air. It seems he senses danger. It took me years to learn the recipe for a strong storm but dogs recognize the necessary ingredients long before humans know what is going on.
I wander out onto our deck and look northwest. The sky is dark and angry. PAGASA National Weather Service has issued a storm watch for the Cordillera country but I  often laugh at how the weather forecasters  issue warnings. It is as if they expect a storm to respect a political boundary; this is human nonsense at its greatest proportion. The dark clouds have long spiral tails that hang down. What I really am witnessing is all of the warm moisture being lifted into the clouds. The speed of the cloud movement, from west to east, is astounding. The clouds are no longer separate. The delineation from one condensed mass of moisture to another has been smudged into a carpet of black and gray.

I watch mashed black clouds with menacing tails rush east. The skies open up. Rain falls like there is no tomorrow. I am reminded of the the typhoons tornadoes that struck an area half a mile from me called Kibungan village almost exactly a year ago. They stayed on the ground for forty miles; F-4′s that blew away the past, present, and future of hundreds of people. A wide swath of destruction that will be evident for a generation was formed in moments; homes lost, lives dashed, dreams sent to the middle of the China Sea. Hopefully not today, not this time. Lightning careens down and cracks open the earth. Thunder pounds this part of the planet with the force of ancient Gods. Winds force the heavy rain horizontally. Our house lights flicker and then they are gone. The only thing we can do is watch, listen, and take the storm into our hearts and minds. Absorbing a bad storm lessens the fright. Fear has no place here. We sit quietly. The storm pounds on and on.

.

It is almost July.. This changing of weather this time of year, from cool to warm to cool, is normal. There have been many storms like this. Perhaps thousands in my lifetime that I have endured. And each time I wonder what is in store. When the atmosphere feels dangerous we all stand alert.

I think back to my childhood. When I was very young and frightened by a storm my older sister would get in my bed at night when the thunder and lightning storms raged on and tell me that God was bowling. That used to make me laugh. I pictured a giant bowling alley, with ginormous pins, and gargantuan bowling balls being cast about making loud crashing noises. The image of God bowling was hilarious!

This series of storms has ebbs and flows. Cold fronts seem to come in waves, like the sea rolling to shore. With each wave there is another line of thunder boomers. The sky goes from gray to black to gray. The sound in the sky goes from quiet to loud to quiet. And even though the clock tells me it is still the afternoon the view out our windows is dark. Each bolt of lightning produces a strobe-like flash.

Since the days of my childhood I have counted the time between a flash of lighting and the sound of thunder. I count slowly, about once per second. Sound travels at 1126 feet per second. A count of five means the storm is roughly a mile away. A count of fifteen means it is roughly three miles away. This is something I learned from my grandfather. He was a soldier and knew the dangers of an electrical storm. Counting through these storms is valuable. I can tell how far away storms are after they have passed and I can tell the distance of storms as they approach. Like waves crashing to shore they keep coming.
I look outside. The wind blows and the white underneath side of the leaves on the trees is exposed. This contrasts sharply against the darkness of the day. It is dramatic but familiar. I remind myself that I’ve been here before when not in the safety of a house. Being caught in a lightning storm near a river or lake is dangerous. Especially in an aluminum boat.  You can’t be too careful when it comes to lightning. A bolt of lightning can be a billion volts at 200000 amperes. It can turn a human into charcoal. Not a pleasant thought.
Even being inside can be dangerous.

Light at the end of the storm tunnel.

And without notice the storm stops. Lightning can be seen to the east. The thunder is many counts behind the lightning. The heavy rain dies. The dark skies turn blue. But the winds stay blustery.
Even God has to cool down after a rowdy bowling match.