"We are consumers of war", Nutt bluntly writes. But more often than not, we are oblivious of this fact.  Case in point: the Canadian Pension Plan, which every working Canadian citizen must contribute to, has invested some $200 million to the top arms manufacturers in the world. We Canadians are, collectively and individually -- and most probably unknowingly -- polishing the very machinery that leads to human destruction. Meanwhile, the international community is in a frenzy trying to put an arms embargo against Syria to alleviate the violence currently taking place there. It seems rather counterintuitive, doesn't it? To be placing our bets on a boom in the weapons industry and then freaking out every single time there's conflict because those same weapons are being used to kill innocent people?

Tungsten, tantalum, tin, and gold are minerals used in our electronics...they also fund the conflict in Central Africa

And then there is the more publicized issue of "conflict minerals". In a nutshell, profits from the minerals that are used to manufacture many of our electronic devices are being used to finance armed militia groups, most especially in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (where most of these mines are). Not only are civilians being murdered en-masse, but women, children, and men alike are brutally raped, re-raped, gang raped as a part of daily life (more on that here). And let's not forget the recent reports on the atrocious working conditions of the factories our mobile phones, tablets, and laptops are manufactured in...so atrocious that it has actually driven some people to commit suicide (Foxconn, anyone?).

And isn't it all just too ironic? The very technologies that have been lauded for liberating societies (think mobile phone use in the "Arab Spring"), the same technologies that are supposedly continuing our path towards greater progress are the products of rampant human rights violations. It's like taking one step forward and then two steps back. And so we are not just consumers of war, but we are also consumers of exploitation.

But then I wonder...if we really knew or understood the processes that lay behind the many things we consume, would we change our lifestyle, not wanting to be a part of such an irresponsible system? Or is the cost of human life too far removed that we just wouldn't be moved to act? I'm a bit of an optimist (maybe to a fault) so I'd like to think that the former is the case. Plus, this isn't new to us. We are aware of the exploitation happening in various developing nations and have even been moved to act before (as in the case of sweatshops). And so I'm inclined to believe that we (a good majority of us, at least) would be mobilized to act if we really knew what was happening behind all the marketing, branding, and all the shiny things made to distract us.

Already there is a growing movement towards ethical and responsible consumerism with a number of businesses offering products and services that are environmentally friendly, locally produced, and ensured against human exploitation. And then there is the growing popularity of "cash mobs" -- à la flash mobs but for shopping! -- where people spend money as a group to incentivize a business to make a socially responsible change (less sticks, more carrots).

"Every commercial transaction has a cost". And that goes deeper than the amount of money we pay...we're talking about the cost of human life here. And I think that those of us who are in a position of privelege have a responsibility to educate ourselves and be more conscious about our consumer choices....because that's just it...we have choices and simply acting guilty about these facts is needless and unproductive. At a time when humanitarianism and "doing good" seems to be on everyone's lips, a critical reflection of our motivations and actions must be our first step...

I've spent the past year all over the place. After graduation (a milestone I often overlook), I took off to travel and explore the wider world. Thirty cities, nine countries, and three continents later, I'm here exhausted by all the moving around, but bursting at my heart seams with a lifetime of memories and an even greater passion for all of life's adventures.

2011 has just been one big love story, albeit an unconventional one. You see, I've fallen a little bit in love with every city and country I've visited. Whether the scenery, the architecture, the culture, the food, or the people...I'm always enamoured by something and I never fail to find something to appreciate. And at the end of every trip, a certain melancholy sets in as I leave a part of myself there. In Florence, I left myself on the steps of the Piazalle Michaelangelo, up top the Alps of Switzerland, in the night clubs of Berlin, on the canals of Amsterdam, in the chocolate shops of Bruges, the riverside in Phnom Penh, the temple mountains of Angkor...

But that's where the Philippines is different. I don't think I've left any part of myself there, but rather I've found pieces of myself. This trip has been in every sense a journey...not just an exploration of some country, but of my roots. On so many occasions during my time there, I felt national pride for a country I've barely spent any time in. Yes, I was born there and am, by blood, a Filipina...and yet, I've spent my life in Canada and for the past nearly two decades, that has been my home. It's an odd feeling. When I read Jose Rizal's books (our national hero), look into the faces of the people, look out into the country's natural landscape, travel through the madness of its streets, I can't help but feel such a strong affinity for and kinship with this place...

I'll never forget the time we were watching Manny Pacquiao's fight and the Philippine national anthem came on. Naturally, everyone rose to their feet. I don't know why but it took me aback...I've never had to get up for any other anthem but Canada's before. And I didn't know the words...I've only ever known Canada's. I am Canadian after all. And yet, as I stood there watching and listening to the people sing the anthem, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly patriotic. And it isn't just patriotism either, there's this familial feeling too where everyone, even strangers, becomes your Tita, Tito, Kuya, or Ate (aunt, uncle, big brother, or big sister).

It's like I've stumbled on to these unvisited corners of myself...and what a surprise to find them miles away from "home" (now a fluid word). And it's even more perplexing to hold on to these pieces and not know quite yet how and where to fit them all in the bigger puzzle that is myself...

It's like Pico Iyer once wrote, "every trip to a foreign country can be a love affair where you're left puzzling over who you are and whom you've fallen in love with"...

I’m guessing my love of reading started with those bedtime stories and for years I’ve kept the books I read as a child. I never wanted to give them away, initially for purely sentimental reasons but after awhile, I figured it would be best to give them somewhere where they could truly be appreciated….to someone who would take the time to read to children like my mom and dad always did for me. 

And so my sister-in-law and I prepared a box full of my books and other educational toys that we could donate to an organization promoting education and literacy for the children of the Philippines. We had been talking about doing something like this for awhile but only now with my trip back home were we actually able to put our plans into action.

Museo Pambata (which translates to the Museum for Children) is one such organization that does exactly what we were looking for.  As the name indicates, it is a museum…but it is unlike all others in that it’s completely interactive and hands-on, promoting an alternative way of learning for children, especially for those who have no access to formal education. What interested me the most though was their literacy program. In addition to their in house library that’s open to all children, the museum also has a mobile library that travels around the impoverished areas of metro Manila reading to the children of those villages. That’s where I really wanted my books to go.

Just before leaving the Philippines, I made the trip over to Museo Pambata where I was greeted by Kikay and Pamela, two street children who were there volunteering at the library to read to other children visiting the museum. And in an instant, I knew my much beloved books had found a home…

Watch the video below for a tour of Manila’s Museo Pambata.

For more information about the museum, visit www.museopambata.org.

Let me start with the oft overlooked atrocities of the Khmer Rouge…not exactly a huge tourist draw given the weight of the subject, but still an imperative visit for anyone traveling to Cambodia.

A quick background for those of you who are not familiar with Cambodia’s modern history…the Khmer Rouge (led by Pol Pot) ruled over the country from 1975-1979 implementing one of the most radical, and not to mention cruel, restructurings of a society ever attempted. Influenced by the communist ideology, the Khmer Rouge’s goal was to eliminate all remnants of the past – even declaring 1975 as “Year Zero” – and to create a peasant-dominated agrarian society. In reality, Cambodia was turned into a prison without walls as the Khmer people faced an onslaught of forced labor, starvation, and of course, political executions. Some 1.7 million people lost their lives (that’s 21% of the country’s population) during the time of Pol Pot…an outright genocide that continues to permeate the lives of many Cambodians today.

Last week we visited the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, which was known as Security Prison 21 or S-21. It was once a detention center set up by Pol Pot at the beginning of the Khmer Rouge regime. Over 20, 000 people were held there – most of which were political prisoners, monks, nuns, lawyers, doctors, and other members of the Khmer intelligentsia. I can’t even tell you how harrowing of an experience that was…there it stood, right in the middle of an ordinary street just barricaded by concrete walls around which regular Khmers would go about their day. As our tuk tuk driver pulled up to the entrance, we were surprised to know we had already arrived at our destination. From the outside, you could never imagine the atrocities that once took place within those walls.

But the moment you step foot inside, it’s as if you’re transported to the past. The actual building itself still looks very much as I imagine it did before. The rooms worn down, holes in the walls, the makeshift cells still largely in tact…perhaps it was just my imagination, but I could swear there were still blood stains on the ceiling of one room…it was all just too real and never before have I gotten so many shivers, not even when I visited Auschwitz two years ago.

What is most disturbing about S21 is the fact that it was once a high school. Each room was, in fact, a classroom…and the chalkboards still hang next to the many brick cells that once held innocent prisoners. To think that what was once supposed to be an institution of progress was turned into this menacing symbol—no, reality—of evil and barbarism. That, I think, is what stunned me the most. 

But the day didn't end there. We then proceeded to go to Cheoung Ek, what is more widely known as the Killings Fields...a mass grave of victims bludgeoned to death with a hammer or some other heavy tool...bullets were too expensive to use and these people were obviously not worth the cost. It's a deceptively peaceful place with a large green field and even a small pond making for a perfect place for quiet reflection. It was once an orchard actually and butterflies continue to roam free as chickens walk within the depressions in the fields…pits where the dead (or the dying) were buried. You wouldn't think anything of it really and it would be easy to forget where you are, but if you look closely enough, you'll see fragments of the brutal past. And when I say fragments, I mean real, physical fragments: teeth, bones, and scraps of clothing lie on the ground untouched. Every time it floods, these remnants continue to resurface. It's as if the victims can not rest.

It was a harrowing experience to say the least, but a necessary walk into man’s heart of darkness…

The following photos are just a glimpse of November 23rd...

To give you some background, let me tell you that the media have been a cornerstone in the nation’s struggle for independence, democratization and justice. And until recently, the Philippines has been heralded as having the freest press in Asia, with a rich history of a thriving and rambunctious press system that can be traced back to its revolutionary movement against the Spaniards. At the end of the 19th century, La Solidaridad, a newspaper published in Spain by leading Filipino intellectuals, served as an instrument of expression for the revolutionary sentiment against the Spanish and the Filipino cause for change and independence. Similar to its role in inciting revolutionary sentiments at the end of the 19th century, the Philippine press was also crucial in the People Power Revolution of 1986 that ultimately toppled the Marcos regime. And after being silenced for years under a dictatorial government, the media flourished...

The right to the freedom of expression, of speech, and of the press has always been enshrined in the Philippine constitution. Despite this, however, the press, at least in its current state, is an incredibly weak institution that faces intractable challenges, none more so than the culture of impunity. Unpunished violence against the media has soared since the years after the Marcos regime fell, especially during the years of the Arroyo administration. As journalist Lin Neumann once wrote for the Committee to Protect Journalists, the "damage done by Marcos' martial law remains. By dismantling the structure of the press built up over previous decades, Marcos weakened the professionalism and ultimately politicized the media to a staggering degree", creating a climate of fear that continues to be a powerful force in the Philippine press. 

Defined by CMFR's Deputy Director Luis Teodoro as “the way some societies ignore, permit or even encourage various forms of violence against journalists as well as their harassment and intimidation, and allow these to go unpunished”, the culture of impunity has truly dominated the Philippines in recent years. From being praised as having the freest press in Asia, the Philippines’ reputation has suffered, becoming the second most dangerous place in the world for media workers, only behind Iraq. Since 1986, 123 journalists and media workers have been killed in the line of duty and only 10 convictions have been carried out for these killings.

This near zero arrest, trial, and conviction of killers is fueling the culture of impunity that is stifling the freedom of expression, of speech, and of the press in the Philippines. It is no surprise then that its position on RSF's Press Freedom Index of 2010 dropped precipitously to 156th place out of the 178 countries included in the ranking, officially joining the ranks of infamously repressive states such as China, Iran, Burma, and North Korea.  This culture of impunity not only threatens the lives of its media workers but also impinges on every Filipino’s right to freedom of expression.

The change in administration to Noynoy Aquino, the son of revolutionary icons Benigno and Corazon Aquino, reignited hope...but after more than a year in office, the killings continue. Six journalists have been killed under his administration and the lack of strong action and major shift in policy to end impunity leaves the country wanting in justice...

The road is long and no single government agency or NGO can act alone to definitely end what has become, if I may again borrow from our hero Rizal, a cancer of this society. But let this first Day to End Impunity be the beginning of a real and effective treatment against this deadly disease...

To learn more about the Day to End Impunity, visit www.daytoendimpunity.org.
To learn more about impunity in the Filipino context, visit www.cmfr-phil.org.

On my first day here, I went to the local grocery store to buy myself some of the native chicheria (snacks) that I've so badly missed. I found myself walking along the beauty aisle and almost everything there had labels that said things like "skin whitener" or "make your skin lighter!". Later on that day, I was playing with my baby nephew who told me I should be white and not brown. I was a bit taken aback by this. Back in Canada, I prided myself on having darker skin because for me, it made my Filipino heritage more prominent and that's something I've always been proud of. But here, to be white is to be beautiful. All the major celebrities here seem to be competing against each other as to who can have fairer skin. Every major billboard and every T.V. commercial features a woman with ridiculously white skin, it's almost blinding.

Meanwhile, in North America, there's this obsession with tanning and being darker than you actually are. Come summer time, every one is out on the beach or at the park "working on their tan". We've got tanning beds, tanning spray, lotion that'll give you that "tanned glow". People long to go somewhere warm during the cold winter months to give themselves some "color". It's the total opposite. Tanned skin is what we long for on that side of the world...

And so I'm left here wondering...why do we exoticize "the Other" so much and where in the world did we pick up these conceptions of beauty?

Also, on this week's Rights Report goes global to look at censorship in countries around the world. The folks at jhr speak to RSF, Reporters Without Borders, about their Censorship Paradise campaign targeting holiday countries where media is heavily censored. The show goes to Cuba to look at the work of censored blogger Yoanni Sanchez, then off to Mexico, where reporters are continually being killed. Finally, the Rights Report lands in Vietnam and the Philippines (that's me!), where the media is fighting acts of impunity.

But aside from that, Intramuros has become a regular city lined with homes, sari-sari stores (variety stores), and schools. There is such a huge contrast between that old world and the one everyday Filipinos live in today. On one street you had cobblestones that told the story of an entirely different time and on another was the regular hustle and bustle you'd see anywhere else around Manila. At one point during the day, I was standing atop the wall looking out on the Pasig River and was just so amused by the juxtaposition of an old Spanish ruin on my side of the river and the modern condos and office buildings that lay on the other side.

Looking up to Rizal, figuratively and literally. Prior to my trip, I'd been researching about our colonial and modern history as well as reading the literary masterpieces of our national hero, Jose Rizal, who kick started the independence movement here in the Philippines. I've been kind of obsessed with him actually--such an extraordinary man who just oozes fortitude, courage, and conviction. Aside from his real life though, Rizal's style of prose was something that really moved me--so eloquent, so poignant, and so full of substance.

Walking around, I tried to imagine a time long gone where the characters of his Noli Me Tangere would roam the streets-- a time of the friars, the Spanish elites, and the "indio" (then the word for a native Filipino). I pictured the Doña Victorinas of the day, the native Filipinos who, obsessed with being of a higher European class, were full of pomp and pretension. On that day, I faced Rizal's world of the late 1800s and it was just too cool to see in real life all the things I've only just been reading about.