Earlier this week in response to the proposed conferment of an honorary degree to the Du30, reactionaries deployed their deadliest weapon: the hashtag. By the time I got wind of #DuterteNotWorthy, he was already in the news declining the degree (how anticlimactic). My news feed was also flooded by a “I’m against conferring an honorary degree…etc.” template. Years ago this would have been a chain text (pass to five friends and your dream will come true!). Some cried he wasn’t worthy while others, after the customary tirade of ad hominems, cried that he was worthy. UP, after all, boasts the badge of “Honor and Excellence” on its lanyards and baller bands! This was sacrilege (in a secular sense of course). After fomenting rage at the comfort of their twitter feeds, the reactionaries then decided to put up an exhibition in the AS steps. Surely, if these reactionaries raged over bestowing honors on a dead dictator in the LNB, a living one was no exception! A few days after the incident, the rage, and the protests, what do we have? Business as usual and a messy news feed.
The whole event passed over Manila like rain clouds – stopping by to pour, and then shuffling off into the sunset. But what struck me was how it struck my fellow schoolmates’ sense of honor and excellence. Here’s a question I’ve been mulling over since my freshman year: is there even a place for excellence in our halls these days? And I mean it: excellence as virtue – the practice of virtues. Once upon a time, people argued over the question of “WHAT IS GOOD?”. Once upon a time, when Aristotle wrote that the supreme good as acting rationally in accordance with virtue, a.k.a. excellence, areté. Now ask anyone what areté is and they’ll likely say it’s just that building under construction in AdMU. Once upon a time people knew the weight of the word excellence, and now as Jack Nicholson said in A Few Good Men we “use it as a punchline!”
Uncontroversial: that’s the word I could use to describe the events of #DuterteNotWorthy. It’s not uncommon in law school to have a few students just slipping through the cracks here and there to graduate. Some who deserve to pass fail and some who deserve to fail pass. It almost feels like living in a Homeric epic where profs, the mythical gods, hold our lives and balance our fates on their crooked scales. Yet we must believe, if only to create a fiction, that those who get the degree worthy. Life, after all, has many fictions. For example, one of them is that we all know the law in Article 3 of the Civil Code, but if everyone knew the law we wouldn’t any lawyers now would we? We live in many fictions – and it’s helpful to tell what are fictional and what are not.