Re-citation and the evil sought to be avoided

Last Friday, I did something unprecedented. I said “pass” in the recitation for Taxation Law 2.  Good enough, the professor allows one pass for a student who is not yet prepared to earn his class standing. This policy of my tax professor is a fair one, as it does not distinguish students even if one of them has a peculiarly unique name.

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As I recall, there was not an occasion – whenever my name is called in the class – which I refused to recite. Even if I am not quite prepared to take the professor’s blow in a series of Socratic Method of inquiry; I always braved whatever temper the professor has while shuffling the class cards and tipping off his or her head for a mindboggling question.

My classmates can attest to the courage I manage to show during recitation. And many times, I survive the struggle of being on the deck.

My first recitation was in my Statutory Construction class. Being a freshman at that and about to take the initiation of law school rigors, I was asked to discuss the Latin maxim “Reddendo singula singulis” and “Expressio unius est exclusion alteriu”. When I could no longer say anything about the phrases, I sought permission from the professor if I could open a book and cite any provision to illustrate my discussion. The professor was kind enough to allow me to open my Family Code. I remember in that instance I opened the pages of the book on Article 141 without any idea how to associate the legal provision with that rule on construction.

I took the courage to stand my ground even if I was running out of reasoning. In the end, the professor allowed me to take my seat, with a gesture which seemed to me a pat on my shoulder. Before I knew, it was fifteen minutes before the time.

By the way, in that situation, I was called to recite not because of my peculiarly unique name. The professor might have wanted to test my ability as he found out that I topped his quiz in the previous meeting.

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Someday, when we shall have all made it to the bar and gathered once again for some chitchat, much of our conversations will be on those unforgettable class recitations and unquenchable laughter. Because recitation is one of the many classroom experiences that sticks to the memory of the students. It is where bloopers and wits would always come out. It is one of the few encounters in life that will measure one’s ability to show grace under pressure. It is a form of rite which all students have to deal with, especially those whose names are peculiarly unique.

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Which makes me wonder – is a student really reciting in class or simply re-citing jurisprudence and statutes?

Class interaction in law school is different from ordinary classroom setup. I guess everyone will agree with me in this observation. But the irony ofit lies in the term itself. To answer the question, I would like to define recitation and re-citation in their bare essentials.

Recitation according to my e-dictionary is the act of giving a detailed account of a topic. Prescinding from this definition, if a student is asked to recite, he is in effect discussing –  in the most exhaustive way he can – a topic or point of law asked of him. Ideally, this should not be anchored on the professor’s line of questioning. The student must have the floor and the time to discuss the topic at hand, in whatever manner he wants to carry it out.

Re-citation, on the other hand is a play of words. I first encountered it in a legal article written by Professor Florin T. Hilbay of the UP College of Law. True enough, what takes place in a typical oral recitation of class interplay is a re-citation; that is, repeating the ponencia’s expounded reasoning of the law or the verbatim articulation of codal provisions. A student who dares to say whatever is on his mind is running the risk of getting the professor’s ire or the demeaning grade of 65 for simply stating his piece of thought. He cannot freely say his humble appreciation of the law even if he has a peculiarly unique name.

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In all these matters, the student is at the mercy of the professor. For all their wisdom and acumen, the professors holding classes have the control on how the discussion will be conducted. But in fairness, there are professors who can carry out a discussion very well enough to infuse in the minds of the student the necessary legal principles one has to learn. These professors have the spontaneous way of cracking a joke premised on a bland legal concept. This is true especially for a professor who has the penchant of citing as example the student with a peculiarly unique name.

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There are evils sought to be avoided during recitation; and the evils are many, albeit necessary. In the psy-war between the professor and the student, the rules of engagement are not followed, as these are not applicable. What prevails varies; depending on the professor’s mood or the student’s readiness to be tormented. In this entire scenario, the student with a peculiarly unique name oftentimes emerges as a classroom hero.

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A person is only as strong as his memory will allow him to be. This is very much true especially during recitations. A student with a retentive memory coupled with the ability to retrieve whatever he has committed to the mind is a superior recitor. But even then, the listening classmate has more prowess over him. The entire class which has witnessed a laughable discussion will always remember more the anecdote of the moment than the complex facts of the case or the ratio of the decision.

As for me, I have had a fair share of my unforgettable class recitations. The cases of Tanada vs. Tuvera, David vs. Arroyo, El Hogar vs. Republic, People vs. Simon, and Canet vs. Decena among others have left an indelible mark in my law school experiences. Added to these are the judicial and administrative remedies of a taxpayer (with blackboard illustrations), successional rights of illegitimate children, doctrine of qualified political agency, doctrine of secondary meaning, habeas data, rights of the accused, damnum absque injuria, theory of devolution, liquidation of conjugal property, rescissible (rescindable) contracts, rigor mortis, rubor, calor and tete de nigri, settlement of estate, doctrine of self-help, right of pre-emption, requisites of a valid classification, commercial arbitration clauses, distinctions between an interlocking director and a self-dealing one (also with blackboard illustration), and many more.

The doctrines behind these cases and legal terms have been in my working memory, not for any material use they may offer, but for the experiences I had undergone during the times I recited them in class.

Sometimes, I get to be called during class recitations because of the slight probability of random class card shuffling and picking. But most of the time, I get the professor’s attention, not for any reason, other than my peculiarly unique name.

Life lessons – armchairs and elephants; lions and mice; and the interminable art of waiting

Never miss the day without learning something about anything. If you do this, your day will have been a successful one. You can part with it with a cheer in your heart and an eagerness for tomorrow’s wonders. These are life lessons you will never learn inside the classroom. Or even if you were inside the class when you encountered these teachings, for sure, they are not part of the course outline or syllabus.

One particular lesson to learn in this lifetime is – Never be late, especially for a crowded class. If you do, you will fail to hear those that transpired in the short moment that you were not around. Worse, you will have to bear with those condemning look of the professor when you interrupt his discussion. And worst than ever, you will have to go out again, only to find for a spare armchair in the next classroom so that you can take it with you inside your room. Just imagine the hassles and embarrassment of the moment simply because you did not come on time.

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And by the way, have you seen an elephant? I must confess I haven’t seen a real one. Only in pictures and on television.

And have you eaten an elephant? This whole beast is hard to devour even by the most gluttonous animal on earth. But there is a way to eat an elephant. The process is simple. Cut the elephant into small pieces and eat it bit by bit. Mince every portion of it until you have eaten the entire beast, without getting constipated.

This is a metaphorical analogy shared in class by Atty. Doming Legaspi. The only way to learn the law is to take it on a piecemeal basis. There is so much to learn and absorb in law school. Think of all the cases and assignments as elephants being served. We have to eat them; otherwise they will stamp on us. But to overcome them, we have to learn how to dissect the animal. Learning must not be in a hurry. For even the most difficult question of law can be answered by patient circumspection.

I haven’t seen an elephant, or a rhinoceros, or a giraffe. But the elephant is in the room actually, looking for a vacant seat.

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Which leads me to ponder another question of a lifetime – will you choose to be the head of a mouse or the tail of a lion?

In life, we play roles and other stuff. We sometimes get to lead a bunch of idiots or follow the command of an inspiring leader. In one casual conversation, much of my friends said they would rather be the tail of a lion than the head of a mouse. They all think that it is more challenging and more fulfilling to be part of a great endeavor, even if the role they would take is that of the tail of a lion. Nothing is more rewarding than that. And for some, being the head of a mouse is a better choice. Well, it may not be as rewarding as being tail of the lion. Whichever choice people make, the formula for success will remain true – anything is great when greatly pursued.

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Patience is a virtue which is very difficult to acquire. It takes time to learn patience. And for the impatient who cannot stand the traffic or the long line of customers in a grocery, waiting is an art that must be mastered.

The art of waiting has to do with the concept of time. We normally associate time with our present state. When we are in a hurry to catch the train for the eight o’clock class, the fifteen minute interval of the LRT is too long to be waited. But when we are with the loved one, time flies too swiftly to be noticed, even if we have already spent the whole day with a sweetheart.

The Greeks have classified time into two – Chronos and Kairos. Chronos is the mechanical or clock time that we all conform to. Sixty minutes is one hour; twenty-four hours is one day and so on. Kairos is subjective time. This is actually our own interpretation of the time and the intervals passing by. Time is the common denominator of all human beings. We have all been given twenty-four hours for a day. But we differ in treatment of time and in valuing it. For some, the day is not enough to finish what needs to be done. While for some who have learned to manage it, every minute has simply to be filled with.

Patience, time and waiting. These three are intertwined. In a world that is filled with busy people and rush-in line deadlines, mastery of these three is potent tool to untangle ourselves from vicious cycle of mundane living.

While figuring out whether to become the head of the mouse or the tail of the lion, I need to get to class before anyone else gets in, for two reasons. First, I simply cannot ignore the condemning look of my professor. Second, I don’t want to take the trouble of bringing my own arm chair when everybody else has occupied the seats in the classroom.

This irrelevant matter we call the law

If somebody asks you who you are, what would be your answer? 

This has been asked of me several times in the past. And the normal tendency for me (and for everyone else, I suppose) is to state my name. Though my professor in College Philosophy back then, would not agree.  When I answered his question “Who are you?” with the statement “I am Kremil.”, he pointed out the error. In the course of discussion, the professor – an ex-seminarian – stressed that I am not and cannot be Kremil. Kremil is just my name, a nomenclature and nothing more. Kremil may be my name, but I am not my name and my name is not me. If the term Kremil did not exist, will it be possible that I too would no longer exist?

The discussion seemed to me a very fascinating play of logic and semantics. Yet, my professor did not bother to answer the question for me. He ended his argument with a line which in effect conveys that if I myself do not know who I am, who else will take the trouble to know me. Certainly, it was not my professor’s business to find out.

And so life continues…

Two weeks ago, I encountered that very same question, in a similar classroom setup. The question was pondered by my Civil Law professor. He asked me who I am. Although this time, the professor had already known my name from the Student list, he still bothered to ask me the very same question. Seated at the front row and the first on deck for the usual introduction on first day class, the way the question was asked reverberated on me a different hush. I hesitantly answered that I am a law student.

“Is that all? Who cares if you are a law student? Your seatmate is a law student too.”  He replied.

Without trying to be funny, I utterly replied, “I am that which I am, sir.”

“Para ka namang si Bathala.” He retorted.

At the back of my mind, I know the professor wanted to elicit from me something significant or personal about my life. But I refused to state any thing more. I don’t know. Perhaps I was afraid to divulge myself or I was inhibited by the very thought of answering it.

“Alright, thank you Mr. David. Maybe you are still in search of who you are. But please tell me who you are once you found yourself.” He said.

All I could reply was an obliging “yes, sir.”

Nonetheless, I would have answered the question this way:

I am a lawyer in the making. In the meantime, I enjoy being a son of my parents, brother to my siblings, friends to others, enemy to some and a citizen of this republic. I am a government employee during the weekdays, student of law on Saturdays and Sundays, and a bum during holidays and whenever I feel falling absent for work.

 I am a dreamer, a poet, a lover…

And the list goes on. But right now, I am a blogger; later today a passenger on a jeepney. Further on, I will be a television watcher, a studious reviewee, an eater, a drinker, a sleeper. Though I may not be good at being those personality in transition, I try to be aware every moment of my existence. Even if this one is difficult to do.

The question asked by my professor is not new. In fact, it is the basis of the old school hardcore philosophy of Socrates – know thyself.

It is one of the imponderable questions of a lifetime; the kind we all will be required to answer at some point in our existence.

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The next encounter with my professor is a more relaxed atmosphere. He intimated a former student of his who recently took the bar examination but suddenly died just before the results were out.

And the treatise of the class for the day was his words in this wise. “Who cares if you are a lawyer. It’s irrelevant when you die. So now, let us study this irrelevant matter we call the law.”

It is all irrelevant, everything is irrelevant. Yet the book of Eccleciastes 1:1 has a more profound way of saying it is “Vanity of all vanities.” In some modern translation, it says “Utter futility. All is futility.”

The consequences of the two hindsight when combined calls for a more metaphysical deliberation. Who are you versus Everything is irrelevant.

What is the use of knowing thyself if after all everything will turn out to be irrelevant. The amateur philosopher in me would like to argue that these two precepts are reconciliable, albeit pardoxical in a sense.

If I were to spend my whole life searching for the answer to the question posed, “who I am?” perhaps the whole world is not enough to seek a satisfying solution. The understatement of the question is in a way a form of asking the  meaning of myself, of my life as a whole. And if I would focus all what I’ve got seeking for myself, there will be a strong temptation to miss all other things in life. Whether these “other things” are beautiful or not is a matter of perspective. I can only speak for myself about them. The old cliche, that there is more to life than this or that rings true.

And yes, if this will happen; if I will continue seeking for the insatiable answer to the question who I am, I might as well miss those simple fulfillment that life has to offer. And then, every thing, including my ambition of becoming a lawyer will all become irrelevant.

I need to rest at this point. And I confess, I still do not know what I want to be when I grow up or when I grow old. For now I am a man in search of a meaning of life. But just like what Robert Fulghum wisely advised in one of his books: Do not go find the meaning of life; but try to put meaning into your life.

I made a commitment to my professor that I will tell him who I am once I find myself. But in the meantime, I am here in my room, reading my law books and trying to grasp this irrelevant matter we call the law.

 

what lies within