WHAT IS AN EDUCATED FILIPINO? --- By Francisco Benitez.

What is an educated Filipino and what qualities should distinguish him today?

The conception of education and of what an educated man is varies in response to fundamental
changes in the details and aims of society. In our country and during this transition stage in our
national life, what are the qualities which an educated man should possess?

Great changes have taken place in the nature of our social life during the last forty years. The
contact with Americans and their civilization has modified many of our own social customs,
traditions, and practices, some for the worse and many for the better. The means of
communication have improved and therefore better understanding exists among the different
sections of our country. Religious freedom has developed religious tolerance in our people. The
growth of public schools and the establishment of democratic institutions have developed our
national consciousness both in strength and in solidarity. With this growth in national
consciousness and national spirit among our people, we witness the corresponding rise of a new
conception of education - the training of the individual for the duties and privileges of citizenship,
not only for his own happiness and efficiency but also for national service and welfare. In the old
days, education was a matter of private concern; now it is a public function, and the state not only
has
the duty but it has the right as well to educate every member of the community - the old as well
as the young, women as well as men - not only for the good of the individual but also for the self-
preservation and protection of the State itself. Our modern public school system has been
established as a safeguard against the shortcomings and dangers of a democratic government
and democratic institutions.

In the light of social changes, we come again to the question: What qualities should distinguish
the educated Filipino of today? I venture to suggest that the educated Filipino should first be
distinguished by the power to do. The Oriental excels in reflective thinking; he is a philosopher.
The Occidental is the doer; he manages things, men and affairs. The Filipino of today needs
more of his power to translate reflection into action. I believe that we are coming more and more
to the conviction that no Filipino has the right to be considered educated unless he is prepared
and ready to take an active and useful part in the work, life, and progress of our country as well
as in the progress of the world. The power to do embraces the ability to produce enough to
support oneself and to contribute to the economic development of the Philippines.

Undoubtedly, a man may be, and often is, an efficient producer of economic goods and at the
same time he may not be educated. But should we consider a man who is utterly unable to
support himself and is an economic burden to the society in which he lives as educated merely
because he possesses the superficial graces of culture? I hope that no one will understand me
as saying that, the only sign of economic efficiency is the
ability to produce material goods, for useful social participation may take the form of any of the
valuable services rendered to society trough such institutions as the home, the school, the
church and the government. The mother, for example, who prepares wholesome meals, takes
good care of her children and trains them in morals and right conduct at home, renders efficient
service to the country as well as the statesman or the captain of industry.

I would not make the power to do the final and only test of the educated Filipino; but I believe that
in our present situation, it is fundamental and basic. The educated Filipino, in the third place,
must have ingrained in his speech and conduct those elements that are everywhere recognized
as accompaniments of culture and morality; so that, possessing the capacity for self -
entertainment and study, he may not be at the mercy of the pleasure of the senses only or a
burden to himself when alone.

There are, then, at least three characteristics which I believe to be the evidence of the educated
Filipino - the power to do, to support himself and contribute to the wealth of our people;
acquaintance with the world's progress, especially with that of his race, people, and the
community, together with love of our best ideals and traditions; and refined manners and moral
conduct as well as the power of growth.
WHAT ARE FILIPINOS LIKE?
Leon Ma. Guerrero

Nothing is so difficult as self-appraisal, and to answer the question in the title of this article, I thought it best to start by
asking it. With no particular pattern in mind, I asked a number of foreign friends to give me their impression of the
Filipino.

I was told that we were friendly, good-natured, loyal, idealistic, sentimental, socially gracious ("even the lower
classes") unwilling to accept responsibility, lacking in self-reliance, less hardworking than the Chinese, more intelligent
than the Malays, imitative but less so than the Japanese, religious but not so mystical as the Indians, and, in general,
the most adaptable of all the races in the Orient.

A Spaniard thought we were very like the Spaniards; an American thought we were not American enough. A
Frenchman remarked we were the only people in Asia with a sense of humor, at least the only ones who could laugh
at themselves, which, when one thinks of it, was probably the prettiest compliment of all.

By way of contrast, our fellow Asian had a uniform tendency to laugh at us. A Siamese said we were pretentious. An
Indonesian, in much the same vein, deplored our tendency to accept western standards at their face value. A Chinese
thought we were improvident. An Indian was shocked by the cheapness in which human life was held by a people that
could kill a few centavos, a political argument, or a girl's ruffled feelings.

The history of the Philippines might well be read in these national characteristics. There is, to start with, a relatively
simple explanation for ournotorious lack of self-reliance, which means to be the main burden ofcompliment against us
these days. For more than four centuries of colonial rule, we were not allowed to rely on ourselves. Colonialism also
suggests the reason for a certain unwillingness to accept responsibility; for too long in our history, it was not
accompanied by any real authority.

During the four centuries of colonial rule in the Philippines, the government was "foreign," the exclusive prerogative of
a superior class, the special privilege of an alien race. Obviously the Filipinos could not consider such a government
as their own; they could not identify themselves with it; it was a thing apart, and more than that, a thing to be regarded
with suspicion, hostility, even hatred.

The "government" did everything; it was responsible for everything; but it was not responsible to the people. On the
contrary, the people were responsible to it, for taxes, forced labor, conscription, and all the varied catalogue of
colonial duties, with no right to expect anything in return. The hard lessons drawn from the experience of many
generations must be unlearned, if the Filipinos are to develop civic consciousness, a sense of participation in the
government, and a sense of responsibility for the welfare of the country.

The establishment of an independent Filipino government was the fundamental prerequisite for the growth of true
self-reliance. Nationalism had to be the mother of democracy.

Ironically enough, the Filipinos discovered that they could survive on their own resources only during the extremity of
the Japanese occupation and the consequent American blockade. We then became self-reliant because we had to,
and it is possible that the only way we shall finally achieve economic independence is to be driven to it by stark
necessity.

There is, however, another aspect of self-reliance which has nothing to do with colonialism and its remnants. When
some Americans say that we lack it, they are thinking of our family system. They cannot understand why grown-up
sons and daughters keep living with their parents even after they have married and begotten children of their own, or
why they should feel under obligation to feed and house even the most distant "cousins" who find themselves in want.

The trait is not exclusively Filipino; it is common to most of Asia; and it is, I daresay, common to all rudimentary
societies. Modern man looks to his government for security, but where the government, whether native or foreign, is
still regarded as an alien, selfish force, the individual prefers to trust his bloodkin for what are in effect old age
pensions or unemployment insurance. The family is an indispensable institution in these circumstances, and one
cannot be too sure that people are happier where it has been supplanted by the state as the center of society.

Our adaptability or imitativeness, is, like our family system, largely self-protective. Colonial peoples quickly learn to
adapt themselves to foreign ways. The penalty is, at the very least, a kick in the behind. The reward, on the other
hand, is a little more rice on the plate. So in the colonial Philippines, the man who could speak Spanish or English,
who knew enough not to eat with his hands, or who could afford a foreign-cut jacket, had a reasonably better chance
to get a job or a promotion.

That the Filipinos showed a precocious ability to imitate, and imitate toperfection, is perhaps indicated by our national
male costume, which is nothing else than a shirt won with its tail out. This seems to have been decreed by the
Spaniards to make it possible to tell at first glance who was a Spaniard with the right to wear his shirttails properly
tucked in, and who was the inferior "indio", with the obligation of flaunting them even when he was in full formals,
complete to cane and top hat. It is an odd turnabout, not without a certain irony, that this badge of inferiority has been
transformed into a cherished national institution, and that the white man in the tropics has actually followed suit by
wearing his tails cut too in the fashionable sport shirt.

Our mimetism, however, had at least one more source other than pure self-preservation. Those Asians who complain
that the Filipinos are excessively westernized, to the point of losing their Asian identity, forget that there was nothing
else for us to be.
THE HANDS OF THE BLACKS
By: Luis Bernardo Honwana

I don’t remember now how we got on to the subject, but one day, Teacher said that the palms of the Blacks’ hands
were much lighter than the rest of their bodies. This is because only a few enturies ago, they walked around with them like
wild animals, so their palms weren’t exposed to the sun, which made the rest of their bodies darker. I thought of this when
Father Christiano told us after catechism that we were absolutely hopeless, and that even the pygmies were better than us,
and he went back to this thing about their hands being lighter, and said it was like that because they always went about with
their hands folded together, praying in secret. I thought this was so funny, this thing of the Blacks’ hands being lighter, that
you should just see me now. I do not let go of anyone, whoever they are, until they tell me why they think that the palms of
the Blacks’ hands are lighter. Doña Dores, for instance, told me that God made Blacks’ hands lighter so they would not
dirty the food they made for their masters, or anything else they were ordered to do that had to be kept clean.
Señor Antunes, the Coca-Cola man, who only comes to the village now and again when all the Cokes in the
cantinas have been sold, said it was a lot of baloney. Of course, I do not know if it was really such, but he assured me, it
was. After that I said, “All right, it was baloney,” and then he told me what he knew about this thing of the Blacks’ hands. It
was like this: “Long ago, many years ago, God the Father, Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, St. Peter, many other saints, all
the angels that were in Heaven, and some of the people who had died and gone to Heaven— they all had a meeting and
decided to create the Blacks. Do you know how? They got hold of some clay and pressed it into some second-hand molds
and baked the clay of creatures, which they took from the heavenly kilns. Because they were in a hurry and there was no
room next to the fire, they hung them in the chimneys. Smoke, smoke, smoke—and there you have them, black as coals.
And now, do you want to know why their hands stayed white? Well, didn’t they have to hold on while their clay baked?”
When he told me this, Señor Antunes and the other men who were around us were very pleased and they all burst
out laughing. That very same day, Señor Frias told me that everything I had heard from them there had been just one big
pack of lies. Really and truly, what he knew about the Blacks’ hands was right—that God finished men and told them to
bathe in a lake in Heaven. After bathing, the people were nice and white. The Blacks, well. They were made very early in
the morning and at this hour, the water in the lake was very cold, so they only wet the palms of their hands and the soles of
their feet before dressing and coming to the world. But I read in a book that happened to mention the story, that the Blacks
have hands lighter like this because they spent their lives bent over, gathering the white cotton of Virginia and I don’t know
where else. Of course, Doña Estefania did not agree when i told her this. According to her, it is only because their hands
became bleached with all that washing. Well, I do not know what to think about all this but the truth is that however
calloused and cracked they may be, Black hands are always lighter than the rest of him. And that’s that! My mother is the
only one who must be right about this question of a Black’s hands being lighter than the rest of his body. On the day that
we were talking about it, i was telling her what I already knew about the question, and she could not stop laughing. When i
was talking, she did not tell me at once what she thought about all this and she only talked when she was sure that I
wouldn’t get tired of bothering her about it. And even then, she was crying and clutching herself around the stomach like
someone who had laughed so much that it was quite unbearable. What she said was more or less this: “God made Blacks
because they had to be. They had to be, my son. He thought they really had to be. Afterwards, He regretted having made
them because other men laughed at them and took away their homes and put them to serve as slaves and not much better.
But because He couldn’t make them all white, for those who were used to seeing them black would complain, He made it
so that the palms of their hands would be exactly like the palms of the hands of other men. And do you know why that
was? Well, listen: it was to show that what men do is only the work of men... that what men do is done by hands that are
the same—hands of people. How, if they had any sense, would know that before anything else they are men. He must have
been thinking of this when He made the hands of those men who thank God they are not black!” After telling me all this,
my mother kissed my hands. As I ran off to the yard to play ball, I thought that I had never seen a person cry so much as
my mother did then.

I am an African Child by Eku McGred

I am an African child Teach me discipline, teach me character,

Born with a skin the colour of chocolate
Bright, brilliant and articulate
Strong and bold; I’m gifted
Talented enough to be the best
I am an African child
Often the target of pity
My future is not confined to charity
Give me the gift of a lifetime;
Give me a dream, a door of opportunity;
I will thrive
I am an African child
Do not hide my fault
show me my wrong
I am like any other;
Teach me to dream
And I will become
I am an African child
I am the son, daughter of the soil
Rich in texture and content
Full of potential for a better tomorrow
teach me hard work
Teach me to think like the star within me
I am an African child
I can be extra-ordinary
call me William Kamkwamba the Inventor;
Give me a library with books
Give me a scrap yard and discarded
electronics
Give me a broken bicycle;
Plus the freedom to be me
And I will build you a wind millI am an
African child
We are the new generation
Not afraid to be usUniquely gifted, black
and talented
Shining like the stars we are
We are the children of Africa
Making the best of us
Yes! I am an African Child.
The Soul of the Great Bell
by Lafcadio Hearn (1850-1904)

The water-clock marks the hour in the Tachung sz’, in the Tower of the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to
smite the lips of the metal monster—the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the sacred Fa-hwa-
King, from the chapters of the holy Ling-yen-King! Hear the great bell responding!—how mighty her voice,
though tongueless! KO-NGAI! All the little dragons on the high-tilted eaves of the green roofs shiver to the
tips of their gilded tails under that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble on their carven
perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas quiver with desire to speak. KO-NGAI—all the green-
and-gold tiles of the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are writhing against the sky; the
uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over the heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense! KO-
NGAI!—What a thunder tone was that! All the lacquered goblins on the palace cornices wriggle their fire-
coloured tongues! And after each huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden
moan, and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the immense tone faints away in broken
whispers of silver, as though a woman should whisper, “Hiai!” Even so the great bell hath sounded every
day for well-nigh five hundred years—Ko-Ngai: first with stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan
of gold, then with silver murmuring of “Hiai!” And there is not a child in all the many-coloured ways of the
old Chinese city who does not know the story of the great bell, who cannot tell you why he great bell
says Ko-Ngai and Hiai!

Now this is the story of the great bell in the Tachung sz’, as the same is related in the Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue,
written by the learned Yu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu.

Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of Heaven, Yong-Lo, of the “Illustrious” or
Ming dynasty, commanded the worthy official Kouan-Yu that he should have a bell made of such size that
the sound thereof might be heard for one hundred li. And he further ordained that the voice of the bell
should be strengthened with brass, and deepened with gold, and sweetened with silver; and that the face
and the great lips of it should be graven with blessed sayings from the sacred books, and that it should be
suspended in the centre of the imperial capital to sound through all the many-coloured ways of the City of
Pe-King.

Therefore the worthy mandarin Kouan-Yu assembled the master-moulders and the renowned bellsmiths of
the empire, and all men of great repute and cunning in foundry work; and they measured the materials for
the alloy, and treated them skilfully, and prepared the moulds, the fires, the instruments, and the monstrous
melting-pot for fusing the metal. And they laboured exceedingly, like giants neglecting only rest and sleep
and the comforts of life; toiling both night and day in obedience to Kouan-Yu, and striving in all things to do
the behest of the Son of Heaven.

But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated from the glowing casting, it was
discovered that, despite their great labour and ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for the metals
had rebelled one against the other—the gold had scorned alliance with the brass, the silver would not
mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the moulds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled,
and the metal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The Son of Heaven heard and
was angry, but spake nothing.

A second time the bell was cast, and the result was even worse. Still the metals obstinately refused to
blend one with the other; and there was no uniformity in the bell, and the sides of it were cracked and
fissured, and the lips of it were slagged and split asunder; so that all the labour had to be repeated even a
third time, to the great dismay of Kouan-Yu. And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was
angrier than before; and sent his messenger to Kouan-Yu with a letter, written upon lemon-coloured silk
and sealed with the seal of the dragon, containing these words:

“From the Mighty Young-Lo, the Sublime Tait-Sung, the Celestial and August, whose reign is
called ‘Ming,’ to Kouan-Yu the Fuh-yin:Twice thou hast betrayed the trust we have deigned graciously to
place in thee; if thou fail a third time in fulfilling our command, thy head shall be severed from thy
neck. Tremble, and obey!”

Now, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness whose name—Ko-Ngai—was ever in the mouths of
poets, and whose heart was even more beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved her father with such love
that she had refused a hundred worthy suitors rather than make his home desolate by her absence; and
when she had seen the awful yellow missive, sealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away with fear for
her father’s sake. And when her senses and her strength returned to her, she could not rest or sleep for
thinking of her parent’s danger, until she had secretly sold some of her jewels, and with the money so
obtained had hastened to an astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by what means her father
might be saved from the peril impending over him. So the astrologer made observations of the heavens,
and marked the aspect of the Silver Stream (which we call the Milky Way), and examined the signs of the
Zodiac—the Hwang-tao, or Yellow Road—and consulted the table of the Five Hin, or Principles of the
Universe, and the mystical books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he made answer to her,
saying: “Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock, silver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh of a
maiden be melted in the crucible; until the blood of a virgin be mixed with the metals in their fusion.” So Ko-
Ngai returned home sorrowful at heart; but she kept secret all that she had heard, and told no one what
she had done.

At last came the awful day when the third and last effort to cast the great bell was to be made; and Ko-
Ngai, together with her waiting-woman, accompanied her father to the foundry, and they took their places
upon a platform overlooking the toiling of the moulders and the lava of liquefied metal. All the workmen
wrought at their tasks in silence; there was no sound heard but the muttering of the fires. And the muttering
deepened into a roar like the roar of typhoons approaching, and the blood-red lake of metal slowly
brightened like the vermilion of a sunrise, and the vermilion was transmuted into a radiant glow of gold, and
the gold whitened blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon. Then the workers ceased to feed the raving
flame, and all fixed their eyes upon the eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to give the signal to
cast.

But ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his head and all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai
sounding sharply sweet as a bird’s song above the great thunder of the fires—“For thy sake, O my father!”
And even as she cried, she leaped into the white flood of metal; and the lava of the furnace roared to
receive her, and spattered monstrous flakes of flame to the roof, and burst over the verge of the earthen
crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of many-coloured fires, and subsided quakingly, with lightnings and
with thunders and with mutterings.

Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped in after her, but that strong men held him
back and kept firm grasp upon him until he had fainted away, and they could bear him like one dead to his
home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for pain, stood before the furnace, still
holding in her hands a shoe, a tiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers—the shoe of her
beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by the foot as she leaped, but had only
been able to clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it like
one gone mad.

But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and August had to be obeyed, and the work of
the moulders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer and
whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the
ponderous casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was
beautiful to look upon and perfect in form, and wonderful in colour above all other bells. Nor was there any
trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with
the well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and the iron. And when they sounded
the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other bell,
reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred li, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like
some vast voice uttering a name, a woman’s name, the name of Ko-Ngai.

And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with
a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, “Hiai!” And still, when
the people hear that great golden moan they keep silence, but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in
the air, and the sobbing of “Hiai!” then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-coloured ways of
Pe-King whisper to their little ones: “Listen! that is Ko-Ngai crying for her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai calling for
her shoe!”

THE STORY OF THE AGED MOTHER

A Japanese Folktale

Long, long ago there lived at the foot of the mountain a poor farmer and his aged, widowed mother. They
owned a bit of land which supplied them with food, and their humble were peaceful and happy.

Shinano was governed by a despotic leader who though a warrior, had a great and cowardly shrinking from
anything suggestive of failing health and strength. This caused him to send out a cruel proclamation. The
entire province was given strict orders to immediately put to death all aged people. Those were barbarous
days, and the custom of abandoning old people to die was not common. The poor farmer loved his aged
mother with tender reverence, and the order filled his heart with sorrow. But no one ever thought a second
time about obeying the mandate of the governor, so with many deep hopeless sighs, the youth prepared
for what at that time was considered the kindest mode of death.

Just at sundown, when his day’s work was ended, he took a quantity of unwhitened rice which is principal
food for poor, cooked and dried it, and tying it in a square cloth, swung and bundle around his neck along
with a gourd filled with cool, sweet water. Then he lifted his helpless old mother to his back and stated on
his painful journey up the mountain. The road was long and steep; the narrowed road was crossed and
reclosed by many paths made by the hunters and woodcutters. In some place, they mingled in a confused
puzzled, but he gave no heed. One path or another, it mattered not. On he went, climbing blindly upward
towards the high bare summit of what is know as Obatsuyama, the mountain of the “abandoning of aged”.

The eyes of the old mother were not so dim but that they noted the reckless hastening from one path to
another, and her loving heart grew anxious. Her son did not know the mountain’s many paths and his
return might be one of danger, so she stretched forth her hand and snapping the twigs from brushes as
they passed, she quietly dropped a handful every few steps of the way so that they climbed, the narrow
path behind them was dotted at frequently intervals with tiny piles of twigs. At last the summit was reached.
Weary and heart sick, the youth gently released his burden and silently prepared a place of comfort as his
last duty to the loved one. Gathering fallen pine needle, he made a soft cushion and tenderly lifting his old
mother therein, he wrapped her padded coat more closely about the stooping shoulders and with tearful
eyes and an aching heart said farewell.

The trembling mother’s voice was full of unselfish love as she gave her last injunction. “Let not thine eyes
be blinded, my son.” She said. “The mountain road is full of dangers. LOOK carefully and follow the path
which holds the piles of twigs. They will guide you to the familiar way farther down”. The son’s surprised
eyes looked back over the path, then at the poor old, shriveled hands all scratched and soiled by their work
of love. His heart smote him and bowing to the grounds, he cried aloud: “oh, Honorable mother, thy
kindness thrusts my heart! I will not leave thee. Together we will follow the path of twigs, and together we
will die!”
Once more he shouldered his burden (how light it seemed no) and hastened down the path, through the
shadows and the moonlight, to the little hut in the valley. Beneath the kitchen floor was a walled closet for
food, which was covered and hidden from view. There the son his mother, supplying her with everything
needful and continually watching and fearing. Time passed, and he was beginning to feel safe when again
the governor sent forth heralds bearing an unreasonable order, seemingly as a boast of his power. His
demand was that his subject should present him with a rope of ashes. The entire province trembled with
dread. The order must be obeyed yet who in all Shinano could make a rope of ashes?

One night, in great distress, the son whispered the news to his hidden mother. “Wait!” she said. “I will think.
I will think” On the second day she told him what to do. “Make rope twisted straw,” she said. “Then stretch
it upon a row of flat stones and burn it there on the windless night.” He called the people together and did
as she said and when the blaze died, behold upon the stones with every twist and fiber showing perfectly.
Lay a rope of whitehead ashes.

The governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised greatly, but he demanded to know where he
had obtained his wisdom. “Alas! Alas!” cried the farmer, “the truth must be told!” and with deep bows he
related his story. The governor listened and then meditated in silence. Finally he lifted his head, “Shinano
needs more than strength of youth,” he said gravely. “Ah, that I should have forgotten the well-known
saying, “With the crown of snow, there cometh a wisdom!” That very hour the cruel law was abolished, and
custom drifted into as far a past that only legends remain.

KOFI ANNAN: CLOSING REMARKS FOR THE 2010 AFRICAN GREEN REVOLUTION
FORUM

Accra, Ghana
“We are finally getting the message across – agriculture pays…”
Attached PDF
Closing Remarks for the 2010 African Green Revolution Forum.pdf
Let me start by thanking the government of Ghana for the excellent support and
generous hospitality they have accorded to this first-ever African Green Revolution
Forum. Let me thank my dear friend, former President of Nigeria, Olusegun Obasanjo
for joining us. I also wish to express my deep appreciation to Prime Minister Peter
Pinda of the Republic of Tanzania.
My gratitude to the ministers from several countries, as well as the many business
leaders, farmers, and civil societies, for joining us for these past three days.
I take this opportunity to sincerely thank all the sponsors that made this unique Forum
possible. I am honored that all of you accepted my invitation to this Forum.
When I took on the task of chair of the Alliance for a Green Revolution in Africa, I knew
we had to get a green revolution on its way. I think we have started doing that.
However, for it to turn into a massive revolution that will impact many countries, and
millions of farmers – for that is the only scale that matters – we need a movement
behind us. I cannot do this alone.
Therefore, as I stand before you this morning, I am thrilled to see that a genuine
movement has emerged. It is a collective, all-inclusive movement. For present here for
the past 3 days were farmers. The real foot soldiers. We demonstrated that we are not
doing this for them, we are doing this with them.
This week I saw something I have never seen before. The bankers for Africa were in
attendance. The CEOs of Africa were in attendance. And they stayed for three days!
This is something you never hear of on this continent. Friends said this is the first time
they have ever seen such a group of top bankers and CEOs at an agricultural event.
This is excellent news. We are finally getting the message across. Agriculture pays.
Agriculture is a business. And we are ready to run it as one, for millions of smallholder
farmers.
I saw African scientists this week who are at the forefront of developing Africa’s own
solutions to unlock agricultural productivity.
I saw our women – from farmers to scientists, policymakers to owners of agri business
– rallying behind the movement. This is encouraging, for only they know, better than
anyone, that the green revolution is first and foremost about them! Africa’s women will
lead the charge.
I saw civil society organizations that are critical to the movement step up with renewed
commitment.
I was particularly delighted to see the cream of Africa’s parliamentarians join us. They
carried a unique message. “We represent our constituencies, the majority of whom are
farmers.” They pledged to step up to the plate and make sure the green revolution
happens, to transform their people’s lives.
Of course we had African political figures come out in force. The Prime Minister from
Tanzania. The Vice President of Ghana. And the indefatigable presence of the former
President of Nigeria, His Excellency Obasanjo. These gracious, impassioned leaders
threw their political weight behind this shining moment of transformation for Africa.
So you can feel my heart beat, for I know that we have arrived at the tipping point. We
have converted words to action. We have launched ourselves on a trajectory toward
taking the green revolution to scale.
Let me reflect a little bit on the concrete actions going forward that have come out of
this forum.
First: We are agreed to pool our efforts and resources to scale up breadbasket
investment plans across many more African countries, consistent with the investment
blueprints for the agricultural growth corridors, and the country compacts of the
Comprehensive African Agricultural Development Program of the African Union-NEPAD.
Second: We have agreed to empower women throughout the agricultural value chain
by accelerating the access to improved technology, finance, markets – and most
importantly – strongly engage their participation in the policy formulation processes.
Third: We have agreed to implement the Impact Investment Fund for African
Agriculture in order to scale up access to finance by farmers and agri-businesses.
Four: Increase investment in science, technology and research for food and nutrition
security. But this has to be done on a sustained basis, and in cooperation with the
farmers.
Five: We have agreed to accelerate access to improved seed by promoting the entire
value chain, including support for plant breeding, seed companies and seed
distribution systems.
Six: We have agreed to improve fertilizer supply systems and encourage more efficient
fertilizer value chains, and to scale up agro dealers to improve access by farmers.
For all of the above to work, we also agreed to implement more inclusive business
models that link agri-businesses, commercial farms and smallholder farmers. And we
also agreed that this agri-business model must be firmly supported by investments in
infrastructure, including irrigation, storage and food processing. All of this must ensure
that smallholder farmers benefit.
We must exercise better water management – getting the most crop per drop of water
and ensuring that our farmers can build an asset base that will improve their resilience.
We must recognize that the backbone of African agriculture is mixed crop livestock
systems. Livestock will be integrated into the vitally important breadbasket initiatives
and corridor models, to make them even more efficient and sustainable. It is key to
food security in Africa.
President Obasanjo reminded us of the need to change the mindset. It is okay to be a
farmer!
We all know that we cannot succeed unless governments play their role. We cannot get
used to poverty. We will eradicate it. African governments must rise up and seize the
moment. As I said in my opening remarks, if leaders don’t lead, the people will make
them lead! But I am convinced that you, who hold the reins of power, will lead at this
most crucial time as we realize our dream of achieving a green revolution for Africa.
As we go forward, the euphoria must be tempered by the sobering reality of climate
change. We will put in place measures to adapt to this onslaught of nature. The African
farmer did not cause climate change. But she must bear the brunt of it.
Let’s change our destiny. I call for the global community to honor their commitments
for climate change adaptation in support of millions of African smallholder farmers.
Ladies and gentlemen – partners in hope – optimism can no longer be deferred. The
time for action is now. For as you leave this forum, you are carrying upon your
shoulders the vibrant hopes of a generation and a continent. We will not dash the
dream of the African farmer.
Yesterday we celebrated the remarkable life and achievements of the architect of the
green revolution.
Dr. Normal Borlaug saved more lives than anyone else in history. And yet in his final
days, his very last words were, “Take it to the farmer!” Yes – take it to the farmer. It is
our mandate that his words live on. And they shall, with Africa’s own and unique green
revolution.
When we gathered here three days ago, we walked into this hall as individuals –
isolated from one another and unsure of what the path forward might be.
Today we move forward, strongly united and passionately committed to the concrete
actions that we have jointly developed.
With our hands on the plow, we will till this beautiful land’s soil together, and help
Africa reap a bountiful harvest.
This is Africa’s moment. Together, as a movement, we will feed Africa. And we will not
fail!
Thank you very much.
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam [excerpt]
Edward Fitzgerald
Wake! For the Sun, who scattered
into flight
The Stars before him from the Field
of Night,
Drives Night along with them from
Heav’n and strikes
The Sultán’s Turret with a Shaft of
Light.
Before the phantom of False morning
died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern
cried,
“When all the Temple is prepared
within,
Why nods the drowsy Worshiper
outside?”
And, as the Cock crew, those who
stood before
The Tavern shouted--“Open, then, the
Door!
You know how little while we have
to stay,
And, once departed, may return no
more.”
A Book of Verses underneath the
Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and
Thou
Beside me singing in the
Wilderness
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Some for the Glories of This World;
and some
Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to
come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the
Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant
Drum!
Look to the blowing Rose about
us--“Lo,
Laughing," she says, “into the world I
blow,
At once the silken tassel of my
Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden
throw.”
And those who husbanded the Golden
Grain,
And those who flung it to the winds
like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are
turned
As, buried once, Men want dug up
again.
I sometimes think that never blows so
red
The Rose as where some buried
Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden
wears
Dropped in her Lap from some once
lovely Head.
And this reviving Herb whose tender
Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we
lean--
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who
knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs
unseen!
Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that
clears
Today of past Regrets and future
Fears:
Tomorrow!--Why, Tomorrow I may
be
Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n
thousand Years.
For some we loved, the loveliest and
the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time
hath pressed,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or
two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
And we, that now make merry in the
Room
They left, and Summer dresses in
new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the
Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a
Couch--for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we yet
may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to
lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer,
and--sans End!
The Moving Finger writes, and,
having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
 Shall lure it back to cancel half a Whereunder crawling cooped we live
Line, and die,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word Lift not your hands to It for help--
of it. for It
As impotently moves as you or I.
And that inverted Bowl they call the
Sky,

The Legend of the Pine Tree

The story is all about a girl named Bangan, who is very honest and kind.
Due to a certain skin disease, people tend to avoid her. What she wants is someone
who can accompany and befriend her, but nobody dare to. One day, while going to
the forest, birds and animals started to flock around her, that cause her happiness
from the bottom of her heart. A warm feeling she had never experienced before,
due to her love with the animals that love her, she thought of something. And
prayed to the God Kabunian, saying this warm felt words, " O, God Kabunian, I
would like you to turn me into a tree, which I can be useful to anybody, and to my
friends in this forest." And so the God replied, " Your wish will be granted, for you
are a pure person." After a day, Bangan disappeared and People saw a plant grow
where the girl used to hang out, and believing that the color of the wood is the skin
of the girl and her hair turned into spiky –like leaves.