Mahalo to a Consul General—
The Honorable Leoncio R. Cardenas Jr. retires
by Aurelio Solver Agcaoili
Photographs by Ie Agcaoili
Cover photo courtesy of Philippine Consulate General
When he came back from a posting elsewhere, we said in our 2009 Fil-Am Observer feature story that his was a narrative of service coming full circle.
He had served as a deputy consul general in Honolulu in the 80s, during the most difficult political times, when loyalties were divided, and the nation was in its ‘days of rage and nights of disquiet’, as one writer has described in a book about this period of contemporary Philippine history.
After the political turmoil, a new team came over to Honolulu; he was posted elsewhere.
Immediately prior to his second Honolulu posting he was the Philippine Ambassador to East Timor, then a newly independent country.
On July 29, 2009, he came back after almost two decades of absence as the consul general.
I interviewed him at the start of his term.
It was a first meeting, and right on, I hit it right with him, the tone of our conversation crisp and light, the texture of our words that of the breezy and gentle wind of the northern Ilocos where we both came from.
I got to know him from afar, from a press release, from a consular announcement, and from second-hand information I gathered from acquaintances; he did not know me from Eve.
During that first meeting, he in his dark and crisp barong, and I in my jeans and rolled long-sleeved shirt, we seemed like long-lost friends reuniting, laughing and exchanging notes about many things from Ilokano poetry to diplomacy and democratic institutions we sorely needed as a people.
It was a delight speaking with him.
In that interview, I came to know of the integrity of the man.
At the height of the struggle for the basic rights and freedoms of the people of the Philippines everywhere, he resolved an ethical dilemma by siding with the Filipino people.
It was service to the people—that commitment he was sworn to protect—that moved him to do the most difficult of all acts.
And history would prove him right.
He did not regret taking sides with the people; it was the most honorable thing to do.
The second interview was on a Sunday morning, on October 29. It was to be at his official residence by a ridge east of Honolulu city proper.
We came in on time. The consul general opened the door for us.
He was helping prepare a late breakfast for a couple, a newlywed from the Philippines, the bride his godchild.
We declined his offer of breakfast; we accepted the steaming coffee he himself brewed.
Here is an official of the land so down-to-earth, so easy to reach, I thought.
He is still the same official I interviewed more than two years ago.
“I have a trepidation with interviews like this one,” he emailed me back when I asked him for a schedule. “I do not usually grant one. But I trust you. And I trust that you will do justice to your material.”
“This interview is the Fil-Am Observer’s way of thanking you for the good work that you have done to our people. It is our way of saying goodbye to you as well,” I explained as soon as we sat down, he facing the balcony of his official residence where below the ridge the sea spreads boundlessly, the sea calm and blue, serene and unmoving.
I sit across him, facing the entrance and towards a two-lane road that slopes down at about 40 degrees. Beyond are the stately homes in this part of the city and county of Honolulu.
“Your coming back to Hawaii for the second time to complete your work as a career diplomat is a blessing,” I said.
“It is so,” he answered. His voice lilted, like a musician’s, soft and sure, confident and caring.
His face brightened up, perhaps thinking of his retirement that will come in a few days, right after the visit of President Benigno Aquino III. “It is very rare that diplomats are given a chance like the one that I have. When the Secretary of Foreign Affairs called me to say that I would be posted in Honolulu and that I had to leave my ambassador’s post in East Timor, I thought that this was a blessing. I enjoyed my work in East Timor. I had good working relationships with the political leaders of that country right after their independence, after going through their most difficult test as a country, and leaving them was something that saddened me. But I have fond memories of Honolulu and the Filipino people I would be representing. To come and serve them again is something that does not happen all the time.”
“You are coming full circle with your work as a foreign service official with this posting,” I remarked.
“It was one way of completing one’s career, one’s mission, one’s vocation,” he replied. “But I am going home after retiring. I will have another life. I will enjoy my new life to the full. I will be involved in a ministry.”
“What is home to you? Where is home?” I queried. I remembered all of the poets of the Ilokano people pining for home, remembering the Ilocos of old so many of them have never seen in a long while.
He thought for a moment, his pause that of a music coming into its most beautiful and haunting lyrics and notes. There is a musician’s mind and heart in the consul general, and that music would keep him company everywhere he was posted. “Home is where the heart is. Home is what we remember. So: geographically, it is Badoc, Ilocos Norte, where I was born, grew up, got educated. Then again, Manila, particularly Makati, is also home to me. I have a home there, literally, and I will stay there for a time as well. But home is also San Francisco’s Bay Area where my family is, my children in particular. In a sense, the entire Philippines is home to me. I must admit that I will have to fly to the Bay Area some of the time to reconnect with my family, with my children.”
“Was it difficult being in the foreign service?”
“I have no regrets. It was a good life. It was a good career. There is nothing nobler and more rewarding than serving our own people.”
“Do we have a hope for our country? People are quitting the homeland. Can you share your thoughts about this as a private citizen? You will soon be a private citizen. There is pessimism in the homeland. There is despair.” I took my cup and sipped from it. The warmth of the brew soothed my parched throat. We had talked for some time.
He sipped from his cup. And then he said: “Even as a private citizen, this I can say: there is hope for our country. We have to trust the current leadership. President Noynoy Aquino means well, and surely, he is showing us the way to do the right thing. I understand the pessimism. I understand the despair. I know of the figures of those who lead wretched lives. The act of doing sweeping changes to correct the errors of the past is not pretty, is not always pretty. But it is being done. We have hopes for the homeland. We have to keep on hoping for the homeland.”
“Is this hope the reason why you are going back?”
“One of the many reasons. But it is a major reason.”
“You said you are going to have your ministry.”
“I am thinking of putting up a non-profit organization for the elderly. The senior citizens have to have something concrete, some reasons to hold on to dear life, some ways to live meaningful lives. I will start this ministry in Badoc. This is to honor my parents who had to put up a lot for my education, for my future.”
“You have made a lot of strides bringing the consulate to our various communities. It is a huge footprint you are leaving behind.”
“To work for our people is always a challenge. When I came in, I simply followed the good deeds of my predecessors. And this I must say: the younger career officers have so much to give. They are oozing with talents and gifts and dedication. Older career officers like us—older senior diplomats like us—must give way to the expertise of the younger ones. The world is changing—and it is changing past. We leave behind a memory, and the fruits of the small things we have done. In the meantime, we look forward to the future and take stock of what we have yet to do so we can do them.”
“Your music will play a role in your retirement?”
“My music has always played a role in my life, both personal and professional. In all my postings, I always had a choir that I worked with. When I retire, music will not take a back seat.”
“Your message to our people in Hawaii? Our people in the Philippines?”
“Thank you for the opportunity of serving you. It was worth it, this life of service in the name of our people, in the name of our country. I am amazed at how our people in Hawaii are always on the ready to give back to our people in the Philippines. I have been part of various drives to help flood victims and other calamities. I have seen up close what kind of energy there is among our people in the state. About our people in the Philippines—there is much to hope for. Let us do the work of building our nation and soon, the good and equitable life will be ours.”
I gave Consul General Leoncio R. Cardenas Jr. a copy of the Contemporary English-Ilokano Dictionary I wrote.
“You sign it, please,” he told me.
“I already did, Apo,” I responded to him.
He flipped the pages of the dictionary to look for my dedication. He reads from my notes in my handwriting. “I will have use of this dictionary in my retirement.”
It was about noon when the interview was over.
We said goodbye to a man we are truly proud of.
Observer
Nov 2011
Series on Preserving Ilokano/Other Languages-Conclusion
PRESERVING ILOKANO AND OTHER LANGUAGES, SOCIAL JUSTICE, AND CULTURAL DEMOCRACY
(Conclusion)
Aurelio S. Agcaoili, PhD
Nakem and its work could be understood as our own language of critique.
It is also our language of possibility.
Our work of Ilokano language and culture instruction at the University of Hawaii does the same thing.
The simple fact that Nakem Conferences came out of our desire to put in context the centennial celebration of the first 15 Ilokanos to work in the plantations of Hawaii already implicates the intrinsic connection between what we do at our university and at Nakem—and between what our Nakem partners in the Philippines, through the Nakem Conferences consortium and our Nakem Conferences International which is housed at our UH Ilokano Program.
This proves that there is this beautiful but delicate dance that we are doing in our respective organizations and academic institutions.
It is beautiful because we have come to a point where we can now speak who we are, not in the fullness of human speech yet because of constraints that are largely external and systematic.
These constraints are traceable to much ready are our educational bureaucracy such as the Department of Education, the Commission on Higher Education, and the TESDA in listening to what we have to say, things that have been kept deep in our hearts for so long a time because speech is not the best virtue of our educational system but acquiescence, silence, and acceptance without the benefit of critique and reason.
There is the delicate dance in our pursuit of the MLE goals, this we have to admit.
And the dance is delicate because we are walking on new ground even if we resist the old ground and insist on our freedom to walk on this new one.
Certainly, we are learning along the way, even as we try to respond to the challenges of the various MLE goals and its six areas of focused activity.
What we envision and what we want done at Nakem is the evolving of a new educational practice of “being more-so”, a practice that takes into fundamental account the language of the students and the language of teachers teaching these students.
We refuse here to look at language and its reality as something akin to a tool in learning, in education, and in understanding the world.
In our account of the new educational practice of being more-so, we look at language, like the hermeneutist Hans-George Gadamer, as that which mediates our understanding of the world, that which middles, that which is between us and the world.
Thus we can only come to an understanding of this world through language.
There is no other way.
The fact that this language must be always in the concrete, that it must be ours even if we accept that it is also beyond us, makes all the more relevant in understanding the place of MLE in our pursuit of education that emancipates, and that it emancipates because it grounds itself from the humanity of our students and our teachers, a humanity that is always life-long and thus demanding a life-long, continuing, ceaseless educational practice.
Now, we summon the poet Machado and we say: Indeed, there is no road.
But we make the road while walking. We have begun to walk hoping that the road appears.
FAO
Nov 2011
(Conclusion)
Aurelio S. Agcaoili, PhD
Nakem and its work could be understood as our own language of critique.
It is also our language of possibility.
Our work of Ilokano language and culture instruction at the University of Hawaii does the same thing.
The simple fact that Nakem Conferences came out of our desire to put in context the centennial celebration of the first 15 Ilokanos to work in the plantations of Hawaii already implicates the intrinsic connection between what we do at our university and at Nakem—and between what our Nakem partners in the Philippines, through the Nakem Conferences consortium and our Nakem Conferences International which is housed at our UH Ilokano Program.
This proves that there is this beautiful but delicate dance that we are doing in our respective organizations and academic institutions.
It is beautiful because we have come to a point where we can now speak who we are, not in the fullness of human speech yet because of constraints that are largely external and systematic.
These constraints are traceable to much ready are our educational bureaucracy such as the Department of Education, the Commission on Higher Education, and the TESDA in listening to what we have to say, things that have been kept deep in our hearts for so long a time because speech is not the best virtue of our educational system but acquiescence, silence, and acceptance without the benefit of critique and reason.
There is the delicate dance in our pursuit of the MLE goals, this we have to admit.
And the dance is delicate because we are walking on new ground even if we resist the old ground and insist on our freedom to walk on this new one.
Certainly, we are learning along the way, even as we try to respond to the challenges of the various MLE goals and its six areas of focused activity.
What we envision and what we want done at Nakem is the evolving of a new educational practice of “being more-so”, a practice that takes into fundamental account the language of the students and the language of teachers teaching these students.
We refuse here to look at language and its reality as something akin to a tool in learning, in education, and in understanding the world.
In our account of the new educational practice of being more-so, we look at language, like the hermeneutist Hans-George Gadamer, as that which mediates our understanding of the world, that which middles, that which is between us and the world.
Thus we can only come to an understanding of this world through language.
There is no other way.
The fact that this language must be always in the concrete, that it must be ours even if we accept that it is also beyond us, makes all the more relevant in understanding the place of MLE in our pursuit of education that emancipates, and that it emancipates because it grounds itself from the humanity of our students and our teachers, a humanity that is always life-long and thus demanding a life-long, continuing, ceaseless educational practice.
Now, we summon the poet Machado and we say: Indeed, there is no road.
But we make the road while walking. We have begun to walk hoping that the road appears.
FAO
Nov 2011
Observer Editorial, November 2011
Something to Thank For
On this day of Thanksgiving, we have many things to thank for despite the grim statistics of our lives.
Sixteen Americans are unemployed.
One of every five children is poor.
Many more are falling in the cracks of our uneven economic lives, with the number of those unable to access basic social services increasing each day.
There is a widespread discontent among Americans.
And in the streets of Manhattan that lead to the citadel of commerce and capital, the famed Wall Street, there is uproar on what has become of our iniquitous lives.
The main motive of the pilgrims, the pioneering peregrines of our immigrant lives in this country, is the search for a better life, one marked by quality, not mere quantity (read: the possession of even the most unnecessary).
It is a life marked by freedom and liberty.
It is a life marked by respect for life—one’s own and another’s.
It is a life marked by abundance, not by want, deprivation, dispossession.
On Thanksgiving Day, this is all what it means: a return to the basics of our life as a people in the United States of America.
United in our diversity, united in our struggles, and united in our need to reclaim the very essence of our collective life—our union despite the odds.
We have so much to thank for despite the challenges that we see each day.
We have so much to thank for despite the increasing number of the homeless on our streets in Hawaii.
We have so much to thank for despite the need to take stock of what else we need to do so that next year, our Thanksgiving Day will be a bit better, more joyous, more bountiful.
Like the peregrines of old, we need to come to the table again, and with a thankful heart, remember that there is much to give even as there is much to ask for.
_______________________
Hurrah to the Consul General
We join the Filipino American community in thanking the Honorable Consul General Leoncio Cardenas for his years of service as a foreign affairs officer in the name of the people of the Philippines.
His coming to Hawaii for the second time is his way of coming full circle with his passion and dedication for the homeland of the immigrant Filipinos of Hawaii.
Even as we bid him adieu, we will always remember the work that he has done for our communities, his engagement with our various civic organizations, and his abiding presence in the many things that matter to us.
We say, saludos, Apo Leoncio Cardenas! Agbiagka! Mabuhay ka! Long live!
FAO Editorial
Nov 2011
On this day of Thanksgiving, we have many things to thank for despite the grim statistics of our lives.
Sixteen Americans are unemployed.
One of every five children is poor.
Many more are falling in the cracks of our uneven economic lives, with the number of those unable to access basic social services increasing each day.
There is a widespread discontent among Americans.
And in the streets of Manhattan that lead to the citadel of commerce and capital, the famed Wall Street, there is uproar on what has become of our iniquitous lives.
The main motive of the pilgrims, the pioneering peregrines of our immigrant lives in this country, is the search for a better life, one marked by quality, not mere quantity (read: the possession of even the most unnecessary).
It is a life marked by freedom and liberty.
It is a life marked by respect for life—one’s own and another’s.
It is a life marked by abundance, not by want, deprivation, dispossession.
On Thanksgiving Day, this is all what it means: a return to the basics of our life as a people in the United States of America.
United in our diversity, united in our struggles, and united in our need to reclaim the very essence of our collective life—our union despite the odds.
We have so much to thank for despite the challenges that we see each day.
We have so much to thank for despite the increasing number of the homeless on our streets in Hawaii.
We have so much to thank for despite the need to take stock of what else we need to do so that next year, our Thanksgiving Day will be a bit better, more joyous, more bountiful.
Like the peregrines of old, we need to come to the table again, and with a thankful heart, remember that there is much to give even as there is much to ask for.
_______________________
Hurrah to the Consul General
We join the Filipino American community in thanking the Honorable Consul General Leoncio Cardenas for his years of service as a foreign affairs officer in the name of the people of the Philippines.
His coming to Hawaii for the second time is his way of coming full circle with his passion and dedication for the homeland of the immigrant Filipinos of Hawaii.
Even as we bid him adieu, we will always remember the work that he has done for our communities, his engagement with our various civic organizations, and his abiding presence in the many things that matter to us.
We say, saludos, Apo Leoncio Cardenas! Agbiagka! Mabuhay ka! Long live!
FAO Editorial
Nov 2011
An Exclusive Interview with The Hon. Leoncio Cardenas Jr
Mahalo to a Consul General—
The Honorable Leoncio R. Cardenas Jr. retires
by Aurelio Solver Agcaoili
Photographs by Ie Agcaoili
Cover photo courtesy of Philippine Consulate General
When he came back from a posting elsewhere, we said in our 2009 Fil-Am Observer feature story that his was a narrative of service coming full circle.
He had served as a deputy consul general in Honolulu in the 80s, during the most difficult political times, when loyalties were divided, and the nation was in its ‘days of rage and nights of disquiet’, as one writer has described in a book about this period of contemporary Philippine history.
After the political turmoil, a new team came over to Honolulu; he was posted elsewhere.
Immediately prior to his second Honolulu posting he was the Philippine Ambassador to East Timor, then a newly independent country.
On July 29, 2009, he came back after almost two decades of absence as the consul general.
I interviewed him at the start of his term.
It was a first meeting, and right on, I hit it right with him, the tone of our conversation crisp and light, the texture of our words that of the breezy and gentle wind of the northern Ilocos where we both came from.
I got to know him from afar, from a press release, from a consular announcement, and from second-hand information I gathered from acquaintances; he did not know me from Eve.
During that first meeting, he in his dark and crisp barong, and I in my jeans and rolled long-sleeved shirt, we seemed like long-lost friends reuniting, laughing and exchanging notes about many things from Ilokano poetry to diplomacy and democratic institutions we sorely needed as a people.
It was a delight speaking with him.
In that interview, I came to know of the integrity of the man.
At the height of the struggle for the basic rights and freedoms of the people of the Philippines everywhere, he resolved an ethical dilemma by siding with the Filipino people.
It was service to the people—that commitment he was sworn to protect—that moved him to do the most difficult of all acts.
And history would prove him right.
He did not regret taking sides with the people; it was the most honorable thing to do.
The second interview was on a Sunday morning, on October 29. It was to be at his official residence by a ridge east of Honolulu city proper.
We came in on time. The consul general opened the door for us.
He was helping prepare a late breakfast for a couple, a newlywed from the Philippines, the bride his godchild.
We declined his offer of breakfast; we accepted the steaming coffee he himself brewed.
Here is an official of the land so down-to-earth, so easy to reach, I thought.
He is still the same official I interviewed more than two years ago.
“I have a trepidation with interviews like this one,” he emailed me back when I asked him for a schedule. “I do not usually grant one. But I trust you. And I trust that you will do justice to your material.”
“This interview is the Fil-Am Observer’s way of thanking you for the good work that you have done to our people. It is our way of saying goodbye to you as well,” I explained as soon as we sat down, he facing the balcony of his official residence where below the ridge the sea spreads boundlessly, the sea calm and blue, serene and unmoving.
I sit across him, facing the entrance and towards a two-lane road that slopes down at about 40 degrees. Beyond are the stately homes in this part of the city and county of Honolulu.
“Your coming back to Hawaii for the second time to complete your work as a career diplomat is a blessing,” I said.
“It is so,” he answered. His voice lilted, like a musician’s, soft and sure, confident and caring.
His face brightened up, perhaps thinking of his retirement that will come in a few days, right after the visit of President Benigno Aquino III. “It is very rare that diplomats are given a chance like the one that I have. When the Secretary of Foreign Affairs called me to say that I would be posted in Honolulu and that I had to leave my ambassador’s post in East Timor, I thought that this was a blessing. I enjoyed my work in East Timor. I had good working relationships with the political leaders of that country right after their independence, after going through their most difficult test as a country, and leaving them was something that saddened me. But I have fond memories of Honolulu and the Filipino people I would be representing. To come and serve them again is something that does not happen all the time.”
“You are coming full circle with your work as a foreign service official with this posting,” I remarked.
“It was one way of completing one’s career, one’s mission, one’s vocation,” he replied. “But I am going home after retiring. I will have another life. I will enjoy my new life to the full. I will be involved in a ministry.”
“What is home to you? Where is home?” I queried. I remembered all of the poets of the Ilokano people pining for home, remembering the Ilocos of old so many of them have never seen in a long while.
He thought for a moment, his pause that of a music coming into its most beautiful and haunting lyrics and notes. There is a musician’s mind and heart in the consul general, and that music would keep him company everywhere he was posted. “Home is where the heart is. Home is what we remember. So: geographically, it is Badoc, Ilocos Norte, where I was born, grew up, got educated. Then again, Manila, particularly Makati, is also home to me. I have a home there, literally, and I will stay there for a time as well. But home is also San Francisco’s Bay Area where my family is, my children in particular. In a sense, the entire Philippines is home to me. I must admit that I will have to fly to the Bay Area some of the time to reconnect with my family, with my children.”
“Was it difficult being in the foreign service?”
“I have no regrets. It was a good life. It was a good career. There is nothing nobler and more rewarding than serving our own people.”
“Do we have a hope for our country? People are quitting the homeland. Can you share your thoughts about this as a private citizen? You will soon be a private citizen. There is pessimism in the homeland. There is despair.” I took my cup and sipped from it. The warmth of the brew soothed my parched throat. We had talked for some time.
He sipped from his cup. And then he said: “Even as a private citizen, this I can say: there is hope for our country. We have to trust the current leadership. President Noynoy Aquino means well, and surely, he is showing us the way to do the right thing. I understand the pessimism. I understand the despair. I know of the figures of those who lead wretched lives. The act of doing sweeping changes to correct the errors of the past is not pretty, is not always pretty. But it is being done. We have hopes for the homeland. We have to keep on hoping for the homeland.”
“Is this hope the reason why you are going back?”
“One of the many reasons. But it is a major reason.”
“You said you are going to have your ministry.”
“I am thinking of putting up a non-profit organization for the elderly. The senior citizens have to have something concrete, some reasons to hold on to dear life, some ways to live meaningful lives. I will start this ministry in Badoc. This is to honor my parents who had to put up a lot for my education, for my future.”
“You have made a lot of strides bringing the consulate to our various communities. It is a huge footprint you are leaving behind.”
“To work for our people is always a challenge. When I came in, I simply followed the good deeds of my predecessors. And this I must say: the younger career officers have so much to give. They are oozing with talents and gifts and dedication. Older career officers like us—older senior diplomats like us—must give way to the expertise of the younger ones. The world is changing—and it is changing past. We leave behind a memory, and the fruits of the small things we have done. In the meantime, we look forward to the future and take stock of what we have yet to do so we can do them.”
“Your music will play a role in your retirement?”
“My music has always played a role in my life, both personal and professional. In all my postings, I always had a choir that I worked with. When I retire, music will not take a back seat.”
“Your message to our people in Hawaii? Our people in the Philippines?”
“Thank you for the opportunity of serving you. It was worth it, this life of service in the name of our people, in the name of our country. I am amazed at how our people in Hawaii are always on the ready to give back to our people in the Philippines. I have been part of various drives to help flood victims and other calamities. I have seen up close what kind of energy there is among our people in the state. About our people in the Philippines—there is much to hope for. Let us do the work of building our nation and soon, the good and equitable life will be ours.”
I gave Consul General Leoncio R. Cardenas Jr. a copy of the Contemporary English-Ilokano Dictionary I wrote.
“You sign it, please,” he told me.
“I already did, Apo,” I responded to him.
He flipped the pages of the dictionary to look for my dedication. He reads from my notes in my handwriting. “I will have use of this dictionary in my retirement.”
It was about noon when the interview was over.
We said goodbye to a man we are truly proud of.
FAO
Nov 2011
The Honorable Leoncio R. Cardenas Jr. retires
by Aurelio Solver Agcaoili
Photographs by Ie Agcaoili
Cover photo courtesy of Philippine Consulate General
When he came back from a posting elsewhere, we said in our 2009 Fil-Am Observer feature story that his was a narrative of service coming full circle.
He had served as a deputy consul general in Honolulu in the 80s, during the most difficult political times, when loyalties were divided, and the nation was in its ‘days of rage and nights of disquiet’, as one writer has described in a book about this period of contemporary Philippine history.
After the political turmoil, a new team came over to Honolulu; he was posted elsewhere.
Immediately prior to his second Honolulu posting he was the Philippine Ambassador to East Timor, then a newly independent country.
On July 29, 2009, he came back after almost two decades of absence as the consul general.
I interviewed him at the start of his term.
It was a first meeting, and right on, I hit it right with him, the tone of our conversation crisp and light, the texture of our words that of the breezy and gentle wind of the northern Ilocos where we both came from.
I got to know him from afar, from a press release, from a consular announcement, and from second-hand information I gathered from acquaintances; he did not know me from Eve.
During that first meeting, he in his dark and crisp barong, and I in my jeans and rolled long-sleeved shirt, we seemed like long-lost friends reuniting, laughing and exchanging notes about many things from Ilokano poetry to diplomacy and democratic institutions we sorely needed as a people.
It was a delight speaking with him.
In that interview, I came to know of the integrity of the man.
At the height of the struggle for the basic rights and freedoms of the people of the Philippines everywhere, he resolved an ethical dilemma by siding with the Filipino people.
It was service to the people—that commitment he was sworn to protect—that moved him to do the most difficult of all acts.
And history would prove him right.
He did not regret taking sides with the people; it was the most honorable thing to do.
The second interview was on a Sunday morning, on October 29. It was to be at his official residence by a ridge east of Honolulu city proper.
We came in on time. The consul general opened the door for us.
He was helping prepare a late breakfast for a couple, a newlywed from the Philippines, the bride his godchild.
We declined his offer of breakfast; we accepted the steaming coffee he himself brewed.
Here is an official of the land so down-to-earth, so easy to reach, I thought.
He is still the same official I interviewed more than two years ago.
“I have a trepidation with interviews like this one,” he emailed me back when I asked him for a schedule. “I do not usually grant one. But I trust you. And I trust that you will do justice to your material.”
“This interview is the Fil-Am Observer’s way of thanking you for the good work that you have done to our people. It is our way of saying goodbye to you as well,” I explained as soon as we sat down, he facing the balcony of his official residence where below the ridge the sea spreads boundlessly, the sea calm and blue, serene and unmoving.
I sit across him, facing the entrance and towards a two-lane road that slopes down at about 40 degrees. Beyond are the stately homes in this part of the city and county of Honolulu.
“Your coming back to Hawaii for the second time to complete your work as a career diplomat is a blessing,” I said.
“It is so,” he answered. His voice lilted, like a musician’s, soft and sure, confident and caring.
His face brightened up, perhaps thinking of his retirement that will come in a few days, right after the visit of President Benigno Aquino III. “It is very rare that diplomats are given a chance like the one that I have. When the Secretary of Foreign Affairs called me to say that I would be posted in Honolulu and that I had to leave my ambassador’s post in East Timor, I thought that this was a blessing. I enjoyed my work in East Timor. I had good working relationships with the political leaders of that country right after their independence, after going through their most difficult test as a country, and leaving them was something that saddened me. But I have fond memories of Honolulu and the Filipino people I would be representing. To come and serve them again is something that does not happen all the time.”
“You are coming full circle with your work as a foreign service official with this posting,” I remarked.
“It was one way of completing one’s career, one’s mission, one’s vocation,” he replied. “But I am going home after retiring. I will have another life. I will enjoy my new life to the full. I will be involved in a ministry.”
“What is home to you? Where is home?” I queried. I remembered all of the poets of the Ilokano people pining for home, remembering the Ilocos of old so many of them have never seen in a long while.
He thought for a moment, his pause that of a music coming into its most beautiful and haunting lyrics and notes. There is a musician’s mind and heart in the consul general, and that music would keep him company everywhere he was posted. “Home is where the heart is. Home is what we remember. So: geographically, it is Badoc, Ilocos Norte, where I was born, grew up, got educated. Then again, Manila, particularly Makati, is also home to me. I have a home there, literally, and I will stay there for a time as well. But home is also San Francisco’s Bay Area where my family is, my children in particular. In a sense, the entire Philippines is home to me. I must admit that I will have to fly to the Bay Area some of the time to reconnect with my family, with my children.”
“Was it difficult being in the foreign service?”
“I have no regrets. It was a good life. It was a good career. There is nothing nobler and more rewarding than serving our own people.”
“Do we have a hope for our country? People are quitting the homeland. Can you share your thoughts about this as a private citizen? You will soon be a private citizen. There is pessimism in the homeland. There is despair.” I took my cup and sipped from it. The warmth of the brew soothed my parched throat. We had talked for some time.
He sipped from his cup. And then he said: “Even as a private citizen, this I can say: there is hope for our country. We have to trust the current leadership. President Noynoy Aquino means well, and surely, he is showing us the way to do the right thing. I understand the pessimism. I understand the despair. I know of the figures of those who lead wretched lives. The act of doing sweeping changes to correct the errors of the past is not pretty, is not always pretty. But it is being done. We have hopes for the homeland. We have to keep on hoping for the homeland.”
“Is this hope the reason why you are going back?”
“One of the many reasons. But it is a major reason.”
“You said you are going to have your ministry.”
“I am thinking of putting up a non-profit organization for the elderly. The senior citizens have to have something concrete, some reasons to hold on to dear life, some ways to live meaningful lives. I will start this ministry in Badoc. This is to honor my parents who had to put up a lot for my education, for my future.”
“You have made a lot of strides bringing the consulate to our various communities. It is a huge footprint you are leaving behind.”
“To work for our people is always a challenge. When I came in, I simply followed the good deeds of my predecessors. And this I must say: the younger career officers have so much to give. They are oozing with talents and gifts and dedication. Older career officers like us—older senior diplomats like us—must give way to the expertise of the younger ones. The world is changing—and it is changing past. We leave behind a memory, and the fruits of the small things we have done. In the meantime, we look forward to the future and take stock of what we have yet to do so we can do them.”
“Your music will play a role in your retirement?”
“My music has always played a role in my life, both personal and professional. In all my postings, I always had a choir that I worked with. When I retire, music will not take a back seat.”
“Your message to our people in Hawaii? Our people in the Philippines?”
“Thank you for the opportunity of serving you. It was worth it, this life of service in the name of our people, in the name of our country. I am amazed at how our people in Hawaii are always on the ready to give back to our people in the Philippines. I have been part of various drives to help flood victims and other calamities. I have seen up close what kind of energy there is among our people in the state. About our people in the Philippines—there is much to hope for. Let us do the work of building our nation and soon, the good and equitable life will be ours.”
I gave Consul General Leoncio R. Cardenas Jr. a copy of the Contemporary English-Ilokano Dictionary I wrote.
“You sign it, please,” he told me.
“I already did, Apo,” I responded to him.
He flipped the pages of the dictionary to look for my dedication. He reads from my notes in my handwriting. “I will have use of this dictionary in my retirement.”
It was about noon when the interview was over.
We said goodbye to a man we are truly proud of.
FAO
Nov 2011
Pannakatay iti ugis ti anniniwan
Pannakatay iti ugis ti anniniwan
He came to power with brutality, and he ended his life in equal brutality. -- Victoria Cummock, a widow of a PanAm 103 flight passenger reportedly ordered bombed by Khaddafi in 1998, NBC Miami, October 20, 2011
Pannakatay iti ugis ti anniniwan,
Dayta ti imbatim kadakami a lagip.
Iti kadi kanal, wenno aripit
Wenno iti limdo dagiti pait,
Sadiay, kadagiti sulinek dagiti kuadrado
A buteng, sadiay kadi met nga indulin
Ti inauna a kintayeg tapno kadagiti pakaasi
Ket ti katik ti gatilio nga ukom ti rumbeng?
Mano kadagiti umili, iti lawag kas iti sipnget,
Ti nagkararag kadagiti sakaanan
Tapno iti buteg, lua, pannusa,
Saplit kas ti panagdawat iti maminsan
Pay a pammakawan ket ti linteg koma
Kadagiti imam nga itan ket kibkibkiban
Ti agarsab a tapok ken
Ti agsambuambo nga egges
Kas iti di mabilang a paidam?
Intedda kenka ti talek.
Impanmo ti namnamada kadagiti darepdep
Iti landok, semento, estatua,
Ayat iti agebbal a puso
Kas iti agmanas a kararua
Nga iti kadarrato, kadagiti manmano a pul-oy
Iti disierto, ket ti kaltaang dagiti ranggasmo.
Agapitka itan kadagiti immulam.
Kas kadagiti annak, nga iti ugis ti anniniwam
Ket ti ugis met laeng ti inwawam a salakan.
Leksion daytoy kadakami
Iti sabali a lubong, nupay iti pakasaritaan
Ket ammomi ti ugis ti kinamauyong,
Ti sukog ti anniwan dagiti patibong.
Okt 20, 2011
Honolulu
He came to power with brutality, and he ended his life in equal brutality. -- Victoria Cummock, a widow of a PanAm 103 flight passenger reportedly ordered bombed by Khaddafi in 1998, NBC Miami, October 20, 2011
Pannakatay iti ugis ti anniniwan,
Dayta ti imbatim kadakami a lagip.
Iti kadi kanal, wenno aripit
Wenno iti limdo dagiti pait,
Sadiay, kadagiti sulinek dagiti kuadrado
A buteng, sadiay kadi met nga indulin
Ti inauna a kintayeg tapno kadagiti pakaasi
Ket ti katik ti gatilio nga ukom ti rumbeng?
Mano kadagiti umili, iti lawag kas iti sipnget,
Ti nagkararag kadagiti sakaanan
Tapno iti buteg, lua, pannusa,
Saplit kas ti panagdawat iti maminsan
Pay a pammakawan ket ti linteg koma
Kadagiti imam nga itan ket kibkibkiban
Ti agarsab a tapok ken
Ti agsambuambo nga egges
Kas iti di mabilang a paidam?
Intedda kenka ti talek.
Impanmo ti namnamada kadagiti darepdep
Iti landok, semento, estatua,
Ayat iti agebbal a puso
Kas iti agmanas a kararua
Nga iti kadarrato, kadagiti manmano a pul-oy
Iti disierto, ket ti kaltaang dagiti ranggasmo.
Agapitka itan kadagiti immulam.
Kas kadagiti annak, nga iti ugis ti anniniwam
Ket ti ugis met laeng ti inwawam a salakan.
Leksion daytoy kadakami
Iti sabali a lubong, nupay iti pakasaritaan
Ket ammomi ti ugis ti kinamauyong,
Ti sukog ti anniwan dagiti patibong.
Okt 20, 2011
Honolulu
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)