Calculators were new when I was in grade school, and these generated debate among math teachers over their use in the classroom. The majority insisted that students needed to do basic math with pen, paper and their brain. One progressive teacher was of the opinion that if students understood the principles and used calculators early in life, they could handle calculus by Grade 7! Class policy allowed calculators during tests provided that every student had one.
Math is not my strong point and I often tell people I became a historian to evade higher math in college, but I am surprised when I see salesgirls in the malls reach for a calculator to do simple applications like: five plus five, ten minus three, or three times nine. Today the issue is whether laptops, tablets, or cell phones can be used in the classroom. When I give an assignment in class, phones go up in the air: Students would rather photograph the board than scribble on a notebook. This semester I banned the use of laptops and tablets during class because the temptation to use it for Facebook or Candy Crush will distract them (and their seatmates) from the lecture.
While many teachers complain about students who cut and paste papers from Internet material, I remind my students to gather and process the material before writing. In addition, whether the research is done in a library, archive, or the Internet, the critical faculty is the same. While Google is the weapon of choice of most students, I introduce them to Google Scholar. I warn them to be wary of Wikipedia material not supported by verifiable sources in the footnotes. I advise them to scroll down a few pages and consult more pages than the one that appears at the top of a search. Wikipedia is revolutionary because everyone contributes to its entries, making some very good and others very bad. Research teaches one to be critical.
Sometimes I wonder what kind of Philippine history will result from crowd-sourcing. I get many leads from readers who send e-mail or comment on my posts on Facebook. For example, Josef Leroi Garcia sent information to supplement Pio Valenzuela’s prewar account of the Katipunan meeting with a Japanese admiral in Manila in 1896:
“According to a Japanese website specializing in data on officers and vessels of the Imperial Japanese Navy, the Captain and CO of the Japanese Ironclad Kongo from Sept. 28, 1895, to Nov. 16, 1896, and during its Southeast Asia Tour from April 11, 1896, to Sept. 16, 1896, was Serata Tasuku. There is no Admiral in the Japanese navy by the name of either ‘Canimura’ or ‘Hirawa,’ as contained in the register of Japanese deck officers during the Cradle Period of Emperor Meiji.
“The closest name to ‘Canimura’ is Kawamura Sumiyoshi, who was Vice Admiral and Councilor of the Meiji Court at the time of the Kongo’s Southeast Asian trip in 1896. It is logical that if the Emperor sent a personal emissary, it would be an Admiral who is also a councilor of the court, and not just any Admiral or Captain of a warship.
“Of course, nothing is definitive here but a quick Internet search reveals that the names cited in our local history sources for the Japanese Admiral do not correspond to meticulously kept Japanese registers of naval officers and vessels. I am sure a little research from the Japanese naval archives or request for information from their database would reveal who were the deck officers on hand aboard the Kongo during its trip to Manila in 1896.”
Granted that Valenzuela’s memory failed him when he wrote his memoirs in the early 1900s and got the admiral’s name wrong, there are some details that differ when, under oath, he recounted the meeting to Spanish investigators in October 1896:
“That in the month of May a student of law, Daniel Tria Tirona, invited him to accompany him to welcome the commander of the Japanese cruiser. At the hour fixed, there gathered at the [Japanese] Bazaar, Andres Bonifacio, Emilio Jacinto, Jose Dizon, Daniel Tria Tirona, Vicente Molina, Aguedo del Rosario, one Salustiano of Tondo, and he believed another witness was present also. They were received by the commander of the cruiser with an air of indifference and apparent ridicule. Jose Moritaro acted as interpreter.
“Bonifacio saluted the commander and welcomed him to the Islands, placing himself and his companions at his service. The commander replied, thanking them and inviting them to take a voyage to Japan to visit the towns of that country and enjoy its beautiful climate. Some time later they directed a letter to the commander,
Jacinto drawing it up and Andres Bonifacio, Emilio Jacinto, Jose Dizon, Vicente Molina, Pantaleon Torres and a witness signing it. The letter was one of salutation to the Emperor and Empress of Japan and a manifestation to form part of the said empire and a hope that the light which lighted Japan would reach the Philippines.
Together with the letter they gave Moritaro twelve watermelons, sent by Emilio Aguinaldo, the Municipal Captain of Cavite Viejo, and fourteen pesos worth of mangoes purchased by Cipriano Pacheco. They also gave him a picture frame of carved wood, all for presentation to the commander of the cruiser.”
To this day we do not know what the Japanese made of this meeting with the Katipunan leadership. We also don’t know why Aguinaldo’s watermelons mentioned in 1896 were dropped from Valenzuela’s memoirs in the 1930s.
* * *
Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu