Kallautang
The Ilokanos of Hawaii
(First in a Series)
Aurelio Solver Agcaoili, PhD
A number of good things are happening one after another in this state, and a number of these concern the Ilokanos more and more.
The demographic of Filipinos in Hawaii is becoming clearer with the 2010 United States census telling us a changed scenario.
The Filipinos have overtaken the Japanese in terms of number, but not necessarily in terms of economic power, professional representation, and, political power.
A huge chunk of the Hawaii population—about one-fourth—is now of Philippine descent.
Between 85 and 90% of this chunk is of Ilokano descent.
But these numbers do not tell much about where the various peoples of the Philippines are in the state in terms of representation.
Even if historically the Ilokanos and the Visayans have come to Hawaii to help propel the state plantation economy by working in the fields rain or shine, there is not much that can be said with significance about them except for the proliferation of civic and cultural organizations that are, in some respect, duplicate each other.
The Ilokanos are notorious for this, with practically a small town sometimes having two or even three organizations, one splitting from another depending sometimes on which part the wind blows.
It is not true that the Ilokanos have dominated the Philippine scene in Hawaii.
The domination is phantasmagoric, and it is not for real.
The bluff is in the number, never in the substance.
At the University of Hawaii where Ilokano language, literature, and culture are taught, we have a hard time convincing children of Ilokanos to come and study with us, much less help us in promoting Ilokano language and culture.
The usual logic that we hear is that an Ilokano in Hawaii does not need to learn Ilokano because once you are an Ilokano, you already know everything about being Ilokano, and there is not anything that one can pick up from the Ilokano classroom, or from an Ilokano teacher.
The first person who has learned—and learned well—how to hate himself is the Ilokano in Hawaii.
It is not that this is new: in the Ilocos back in the Philippines, the same story is told over and over again.
There is no need to learn Ilokano because we already speak it, say our people down there, expressing that empty boast with an empty bluff about speaking and knowing critically and reflexively as one and the same.
The equation falls flat. It is vacuous, plain and simple.
The other logic, an extension of the same is this: ‘Adda ditoy American, lakay. No more Ilokano here, lakay.’ (‘You are already in America, old man. Ilokano is no longer needed here, old man.’)
We see here a skewed reasoning, one the UH Ilokano Program has to contend with each year.
That program has put in 40 years of service to the community as an academic program of the university, but during the last 40 years, we have only a repeat of the same logic of false cultural nationalism, and a false claim to a love for the Ilokano heritage.
In so many ways, the Ilokano in the Ilocos barrio is the same Ilokano who has transported his barrio to Hawaii, or any of those places where Ilokanos are concentrated.
Despite the 106 years of presence of the Ilokanos in Hawaii, they have yet to prove a lot if only to turn this presence as something that really makes a difference.
We have learned to use divide et tempera against each other—and all in the name of an imagined Ilocos that is as fractious as the Ilocos that has been brought here.
Somewhere, there is that almost paranoid talk about Ilokanos not trusting in another Ilokano.
Among the people—mostly the less moneyed, there is a popular talk that they share with each that it is better for them to get a non-Ilokano lawyer than an Ilokano one for reasons that have something to do with trust.
This is a perception, of course, and this perception can be wrong.
But the talk is there and it is going in circles, like a loose talk among the less moneyed Ilokanos talking about the more moneyed Ilokanos, this last one a group that pushes its members to populate banquets, to attend gatherings for raising funds for scholarships, and to participate in bangus-and-longganisa fund-raisers all in the name of the wretched and the downtrodden, in the Ilocos or in Hawaii.
At bottom, there are two kinds of Ilokanos in Hawaii: the socioeconomically able, and those who do not have the means to get to banquets every week except to put in more hours for a second job at the expense of their children, the measly pay from the second job a guarantee that the mortgage, the rent, or the electric bill is not left unpaid.
(To be continued)
Observer, April 2012
________
The Center for Philippines Studies of the University of Hawaii at Manoa hosts the House of Dance Company, a group of young and creative dancers based in the Philippines. The dance company will perform at the Mamiya Theatre of the St Louis School on April 21, with an afternoon show and an evening performance. Tickets are now on sale for $15 or $10. For more information, please call Clem at 956-6086.
_______
The University of Hawaii Ilokano Program will hold its 40th anniversary on April 27 at Hale Koa. The anniversary celebration will also feature former instructors who have retired, formers students, and program scholars selected by a scholarship committee. The scholarship is under the auspices of donors who have helped this program, many of them without fanfare but have continued to pledge their support in educating the next generation of Ilokano scholars and cultural workers within and outside the academic community. For ticket information, please get hold of any Timpuyog officers.
Showing posts with label Observer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Observer. Show all posts
Again, on the Hawaii DREAM Act
Editorial
Dreaming
In July 2011, the Fil-Am Observer published an editorial, “Dreaming of an Act,” in support of the federal bill, popularly called DREAM Act, and reintroduced in the United States Senate in May 2011, out from its slumber almost ten years after it was first introduced in August 2001.
The Observer was unequivocal then—and it has not changed its position in its support for the spirit of the proposed legislation: the giving of a window of opportunity for our young people who have known what American ethos is like, our young people who have practically lived all their life in the United States, and thus, knowing not much any other ethos, steeped as they are in the kind of style of life that they have seen in the union.
The intent of the federal bill is clear: a path to a lawful immigration status, a path that is otherwise denied to others.
The recognition that there is this invisible group of people—the immigrant youth in the margins; the immigrant youth pushed against the political periphery by reason of their non-lawful status as residents; immigrant youth that do not qualify as legal residents and yet are talented, gifted, and who have the potential to contribute to the greatness of this land; immigrant youth that are just out there but are never given the recognition due them, immigrants that are never given the public space they deserve; immigrant youth that are never given access to the resources that they need to develop themselves, get an education, and become productive residents, and hopefully, citizens—is something that must be thought about, again and again, with social justice framing our way of thinking.
Hawaii, with HB 1475, has come up with its own version of the DREAM Act.
The intents and purposes of the Hawaii legislative proposal is the same as the federal proposal: the access given to the children of non-lawful immigrants who are, by their being children of these immigrants, have been reduced as well as non-lawful immigrants even if so much of their life have been spent in Hawaii, and thus, have not known in a substantial way any other life.
Somewhere we have argued that the case of social justice as the frame through we take a look at this proposed law instead of looking at it from a narrow, even myopic ‘legalistic’ sense, might lead us a more productive debate—a more productive conversation—on this issue.
We speak here of basic rights, such as the right to education. International covenants have spoken, and reiterated, that we cannot deprive the young of this right to education.
The simple fact that the young are the same people that will hold the reins of the future leads us to a basic argument that we cannot now deprive them of the chance to prepare them so that they are able to acquire the skills they will need when it is their time to call the shots of our collective and social life.
We deprive our young of this chance to have a well-rounded view of life through education, we also deprive ourselves of our meaningful future.
We deprive our young of this chance to get the skills they need to become economically productive residents, and hopefully, citizens, we deprive Hawaii of an economically productive future.
We deprive our young of this chance to become well equipped with life-skills, we deprive this state with residents who are well trained in navigating their social life.
Anywhere we go, the argument is for the young and for a socially just and fair treatment of the young people among us.
Anywhere we go, we cannot close our eyes to the reality that we must now pave the way for a socially just and fair road for them so that in the future they will be able to pave a socially just and fair road for the others who will come after them.
This state and this country have been built upon the values of justice and fairness.
We cannot now renege on these values we hold dear.
Observer, April 2012
Dreaming
In July 2011, the Fil-Am Observer published an editorial, “Dreaming of an Act,” in support of the federal bill, popularly called DREAM Act, and reintroduced in the United States Senate in May 2011, out from its slumber almost ten years after it was first introduced in August 2001.
The Observer was unequivocal then—and it has not changed its position in its support for the spirit of the proposed legislation: the giving of a window of opportunity for our young people who have known what American ethos is like, our young people who have practically lived all their life in the United States, and thus, knowing not much any other ethos, steeped as they are in the kind of style of life that they have seen in the union.
The intent of the federal bill is clear: a path to a lawful immigration status, a path that is otherwise denied to others.
The recognition that there is this invisible group of people—the immigrant youth in the margins; the immigrant youth pushed against the political periphery by reason of their non-lawful status as residents; immigrant youth that do not qualify as legal residents and yet are talented, gifted, and who have the potential to contribute to the greatness of this land; immigrant youth that are just out there but are never given the recognition due them, immigrants that are never given the public space they deserve; immigrant youth that are never given access to the resources that they need to develop themselves, get an education, and become productive residents, and hopefully, citizens—is something that must be thought about, again and again, with social justice framing our way of thinking.
Hawaii, with HB 1475, has come up with its own version of the DREAM Act.
The intents and purposes of the Hawaii legislative proposal is the same as the federal proposal: the access given to the children of non-lawful immigrants who are, by their being children of these immigrants, have been reduced as well as non-lawful immigrants even if so much of their life have been spent in Hawaii, and thus, have not known in a substantial way any other life.
Somewhere we have argued that the case of social justice as the frame through we take a look at this proposed law instead of looking at it from a narrow, even myopic ‘legalistic’ sense, might lead us a more productive debate—a more productive conversation—on this issue.
We speak here of basic rights, such as the right to education. International covenants have spoken, and reiterated, that we cannot deprive the young of this right to education.
The simple fact that the young are the same people that will hold the reins of the future leads us to a basic argument that we cannot now deprive them of the chance to prepare them so that they are able to acquire the skills they will need when it is their time to call the shots of our collective and social life.
We deprive our young of this chance to have a well-rounded view of life through education, we also deprive ourselves of our meaningful future.
We deprive our young of this chance to get the skills they need to become economically productive residents, and hopefully, citizens, we deprive Hawaii of an economically productive future.
We deprive our young of this chance to become well equipped with life-skills, we deprive this state with residents who are well trained in navigating their social life.
Anywhere we go, the argument is for the young and for a socially just and fair treatment of the young people among us.
Anywhere we go, we cannot close our eyes to the reality that we must now pave the way for a socially just and fair road for them so that in the future they will be able to pave a socially just and fair road for the others who will come after them.
This state and this country have been built upon the values of justice and fairness.
We cannot now renege on these values we hold dear.
Observer, April 2012
FAO Editorial, March 2012
Operation Manong at 40
Although now officially called a different term, Operation Manong’s vision to serve the underserved ethnolinguistic groups in Hawaii has remained the reason why public service in this state remains a concern today.
With forty years of service, that is more than a generation of concerted effort by a number of committed workers for a just cause.
This means that Operation Manong has nurtured a generation of people, and this generation it has nurtured is now nurturing others as well.
If we look at the list of its alumni, we have proofs of the kind of work it has done.
The list does not stop in Oahu, but goes into the other islands, thus spreading the vision for which it was founded four decades ago.
This is the kind of work that we want to see in these islands: sustained and sustaining.
We have a number of organizations like this, organizations that declare commitment to making the lives of immigrants better, but those that impacted the lives of the peoples of the Philippines and other ethnicities are few.
The reason is simple enough: this kind of work, while it is not impossible, is not at all easy.
For every resource it needed, it had to creatively figure out where to get it.
For every human resource it needed, it had to convince those who have the guts and gumption to stay and serve.
For every step of the way in these long years of engagement with the community, it has to be fired continuously by the same vision of access to the goods of public life, of access to education, of access to public life, and of access to full citizenship in this state.
A narrative of its founding in 1971 brings us to a group of students and faculty of the University of Hawaii joining hands with the community and the staff members of Immigrant Services Center in addressing the need of immigrant children from the Philippines to get back to the school system and stay there.
This act would turn into an operation—a coordinated activity—that zeroed in on the need to address head-on the issues affecting immigrant peoples in the state.
For those aware of the political issues in the Philippines in the turbulent 70s, ‘operation’ was a term in those decades that suggested activism, awareness of social issues, and the undying desire to take part in drawing up solutions to the many forms of inequities and disparities of that country, the old homeland of many of Operation Manong’s founders.
Those were energies that came from the young in search of something good—that good that is for all.
Many of those who were involved were schooled in this tradition of questing for what is just and fair in the Philippines, and its spilling over to Hawaii was a logical consequence of a sustained engagement that saw its beginnings, in some ways, in those years of activism in the homeland.
From the perspective of immigration, Operation Manong is boldness and daring defined.
It took a coalition like this one to name what social illness there was that needed addressing after more than 60 years of presence of Filipinos in the state since their coming in 1906, with the first 15 Ilokanos, and in 1909, with the Visayans.
Today, and funded by the state through the University of Hawaii, Operation Manong has metamorphosed into the Office of Multicultural Student Services since 2000.
With this transformation comes the broadening of its services to include programs that address representation, diversity, and tolerance.
We can only be thankful for this story of service of Operation Manong.
The next forty years, we are sure, will be more years of commitment to the cause of diversity and pluralism, of tolerance, of access to educational resources, and of fair representation in all aspects of public life.
A S Agcaoili/
Observer, March 2012
Although now officially called a different term, Operation Manong’s vision to serve the underserved ethnolinguistic groups in Hawaii has remained the reason why public service in this state remains a concern today.
With forty years of service, that is more than a generation of concerted effort by a number of committed workers for a just cause.
This means that Operation Manong has nurtured a generation of people, and this generation it has nurtured is now nurturing others as well.
If we look at the list of its alumni, we have proofs of the kind of work it has done.
The list does not stop in Oahu, but goes into the other islands, thus spreading the vision for which it was founded four decades ago.
This is the kind of work that we want to see in these islands: sustained and sustaining.
We have a number of organizations like this, organizations that declare commitment to making the lives of immigrants better, but those that impacted the lives of the peoples of the Philippines and other ethnicities are few.
The reason is simple enough: this kind of work, while it is not impossible, is not at all easy.
For every resource it needed, it had to creatively figure out where to get it.
For every human resource it needed, it had to convince those who have the guts and gumption to stay and serve.
For every step of the way in these long years of engagement with the community, it has to be fired continuously by the same vision of access to the goods of public life, of access to education, of access to public life, and of access to full citizenship in this state.
A narrative of its founding in 1971 brings us to a group of students and faculty of the University of Hawaii joining hands with the community and the staff members of Immigrant Services Center in addressing the need of immigrant children from the Philippines to get back to the school system and stay there.
This act would turn into an operation—a coordinated activity—that zeroed in on the need to address head-on the issues affecting immigrant peoples in the state.
For those aware of the political issues in the Philippines in the turbulent 70s, ‘operation’ was a term in those decades that suggested activism, awareness of social issues, and the undying desire to take part in drawing up solutions to the many forms of inequities and disparities of that country, the old homeland of many of Operation Manong’s founders.
Those were energies that came from the young in search of something good—that good that is for all.
Many of those who were involved were schooled in this tradition of questing for what is just and fair in the Philippines, and its spilling over to Hawaii was a logical consequence of a sustained engagement that saw its beginnings, in some ways, in those years of activism in the homeland.
From the perspective of immigration, Operation Manong is boldness and daring defined.
It took a coalition like this one to name what social illness there was that needed addressing after more than 60 years of presence of Filipinos in the state since their coming in 1906, with the first 15 Ilokanos, and in 1909, with the Visayans.
Today, and funded by the state through the University of Hawaii, Operation Manong has metamorphosed into the Office of Multicultural Student Services since 2000.
With this transformation comes the broadening of its services to include programs that address representation, diversity, and tolerance.
We can only be thankful for this story of service of Operation Manong.
The next forty years, we are sure, will be more years of commitment to the cause of diversity and pluralism, of tolerance, of access to educational resources, and of fair representation in all aspects of public life.
A S Agcaoili/
Observer, March 2012
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
Observer Editorial, June 2010
EDITORIAL
The New Promise of the Nation
The victory of another Aquino—President Noynoy to the many who entrusted their votes to him—to the presidency in the Philippines means many things to people of Philippine descent, whether in the Philippines or in the United States.
Or more so for those more than ten percent of the population of the country who are away from the homeland laboring it out in other places and other climes just to scratch out a life in nations other than their own nation.
We call this the exportation or warm bodies that, at the height of Martial Law under Marcos, became an official government policy for many reasons, one of which was the legitimate cover-up for the inability of the country to absorb the labor market.
In short, it could not provide employment for its people, hence the official sending away of millions of them to other places, some of them going back to the Philippines in cold coffins or raped or both.
We must admit now: many people of Philippine descent in the United States and in other destination countries have been motivated to go away to eke out a life outside the country because eking out a life in the homeland was much harder and the opportunity to do so less possible.
Many of us left because there was not much in the homeland.
Except for the broken promises we have grown tired of, we have only the obligatory self-congratulations of presidents and leaders and their game of endless misdeed and mischief.
At the cusp of this new era—indeed, a new promise for us all—there is one thing that strikes at the core of all the promises we have heard many times over, but promises that have never seen the light of day: President Benigno Aquino III is giving us a new lease on our life as a people.
People of Philippine descent in the United States or abroad may not feel the same way as those in the homeland.
But this new promise is palpable to those left behind to witness the rapacity of thieves in government.
This new promise is an antidote to poison of corruption that has marked previous administrations.
This new promise is a restatement of a commitment to truth, service, and justice for all the people.
It is a promise with a vision.
It is a vision with a hard, raw, real truth.
A dawn is being promised, a new one, indeed, with its rays of hope.
A new hope is being offered, one springing eternal as it has always been, despite the multiple tragedies we have had with the conjugal dictatorship, with the Joseph Estrada presidency of corruption of the highest order, and with the Arroyo presidency of a culture of impunity and graft.
Abuse of power is what people call these tragedies that have visited us and that have rendered us impotent, inutile, unproductive, hopeless.
We can also call this absolute power corrupting us all absolutely.
And we are not the better for these untold stories of corruption.
But with this new presidency, we have heard some good news, and we can only pray that this good news will be sown on good soil and ever-ready for the sprouting and growing.
Nation making, as well as state crafting, are a factor of the political imagination.
We have to imagine a land, a homeland, a country, a nation, and on this imagination, we have to push for, even as we account, the deeds that will bring about results: democracy in the real sense of the word even as we hope for the masses getting the proper political education, and social justice translatable into access to resources.
We inaugurate a new hope.
We inaugurate a new nation.
We inaugurate a new imagination for the people of the Philippines.
It is not too late to hope.
The people—our own people—deserve better, better than all the self-accolades and the lies and the broken promises of the past leaders.
FAO, Jun 2010
The New Promise of the Nation
The victory of another Aquino—President Noynoy to the many who entrusted their votes to him—to the presidency in the Philippines means many things to people of Philippine descent, whether in the Philippines or in the United States.
Or more so for those more than ten percent of the population of the country who are away from the homeland laboring it out in other places and other climes just to scratch out a life in nations other than their own nation.
We call this the exportation or warm bodies that, at the height of Martial Law under Marcos, became an official government policy for many reasons, one of which was the legitimate cover-up for the inability of the country to absorb the labor market.
In short, it could not provide employment for its people, hence the official sending away of millions of them to other places, some of them going back to the Philippines in cold coffins or raped or both.
We must admit now: many people of Philippine descent in the United States and in other destination countries have been motivated to go away to eke out a life outside the country because eking out a life in the homeland was much harder and the opportunity to do so less possible.
Many of us left because there was not much in the homeland.
Except for the broken promises we have grown tired of, we have only the obligatory self-congratulations of presidents and leaders and their game of endless misdeed and mischief.
At the cusp of this new era—indeed, a new promise for us all—there is one thing that strikes at the core of all the promises we have heard many times over, but promises that have never seen the light of day: President Benigno Aquino III is giving us a new lease on our life as a people.
People of Philippine descent in the United States or abroad may not feel the same way as those in the homeland.
But this new promise is palpable to those left behind to witness the rapacity of thieves in government.
This new promise is an antidote to poison of corruption that has marked previous administrations.
This new promise is a restatement of a commitment to truth, service, and justice for all the people.
It is a promise with a vision.
It is a vision with a hard, raw, real truth.
A dawn is being promised, a new one, indeed, with its rays of hope.
A new hope is being offered, one springing eternal as it has always been, despite the multiple tragedies we have had with the conjugal dictatorship, with the Joseph Estrada presidency of corruption of the highest order, and with the Arroyo presidency of a culture of impunity and graft.
Abuse of power is what people call these tragedies that have visited us and that have rendered us impotent, inutile, unproductive, hopeless.
We can also call this absolute power corrupting us all absolutely.
And we are not the better for these untold stories of corruption.
But with this new presidency, we have heard some good news, and we can only pray that this good news will be sown on good soil and ever-ready for the sprouting and growing.
Nation making, as well as state crafting, are a factor of the political imagination.
We have to imagine a land, a homeland, a country, a nation, and on this imagination, we have to push for, even as we account, the deeds that will bring about results: democracy in the real sense of the word even as we hope for the masses getting the proper political education, and social justice translatable into access to resources.
We inaugurate a new hope.
We inaugurate a new nation.
We inaugurate a new imagination for the people of the Philippines.
It is not too late to hope.
The people—our own people—deserve better, better than all the self-accolades and the lies and the broken promises of the past leaders.
FAO, Jun 2010
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