Republic of Ateneo

HERE I STAND
By Geronimo L. Sy

Our national identity crisis continues. Several decades back, there was an earnest proposal to change the name of the Republic of the Philippines to Mabuhay Republic or something to that effect. “Philippines,” of course, is derived from then King Philip of Spain when the first Spanish conquistadores invaded our land and claimed dominion for the crown.

Obviously, nothing happened to the suggestion. Otherwise, we would be calling ourselves Mabuhayans, or if you prefer, Mabuhayites. Are we destined to be trapped in our historical past tied up with a social and cultural baggage?

It’s time to launch another campaign to break free from our self-imposed bondage and establish a new identity to build a national consciousness. Watching the final game of the recent Ateneo versus UST championship fight last Monday, one felt as if Jose
Rizal had been shot dead all over again when Atenean JC Intal missed the winning shot. Go Republic of Ateneo! It was us versus them, no turning back. We took leaves and cut classes in order to line up for four hours to get one ticket worth 25 pesos.
Appointments were canceled to cheer ourselves hoarse and to exhaust ourselves for the bewildered Blue Eagle. Why this die-hard, do or die mentality as if there was no tomorrow. If only we translate a fraction of our commitment from our alma mater to our country and do the same rabid thing, RP will be leading the way to the third millennium even with the strongest super typhoons.

We love our school because we grew up in it. We don’t love our country because we grew up here. We wear white and blue to be united with the rest of the community. We hardly wear our national colors or display the flag anywhere lest we be associated with it. We relate to our school because that is where we found ourselves. We can’t relate to our country because we are still lost, terribly lost. We love our team because they give their best each time. Can we say the same for our government team? We are transported unto the basketball court as if we are making the play happen. In governance, participation is being the ball, dribbled till we flop or go out of bounds.

Maybe we go for our team because it’s a winning team. My apologies but in all the university games, I hardly see National University fans packing the tiny Rizal
Stadium. (Note: National University, or NU, is a perennial cellar dweller.) That’s it! We don’t love our country because it’s not a winning one. Heck, we hate the country for being a loser 86 million times over 108-year games.

If what it takes to transform us into full-blooded patriots is the need to identify with the winning side, then by all means, let’s change our name to the Republic of UST or better yet, the Republic of La Salle. Although we promise not to mass migrate—that is a scary thought—we ought to just stick to dear old Philippines.

Seriously, it’s not about hating the other side so much as hating ourselves for not dropping everything por la patria. This zeal, this commitment for our school is a deep-seated frustration for our stunted love for our country. It is a reflection, a
deflection, a channeling of energies to a narrower cause we have some measure of control over. How we yearn to break free and breathe and cup the islands like nationalists of the finest kind.

The reckoning trophy is about the national arena. The falling confetti is about Edsa. The silent prayers are for the nation. Green, yellow, blue—what does color matter when destiny has bound us to be called Filipinos. It is about time we stood up for our school to make our country proud. Our school, our Republic: it is our one choice in these dying seconds.