FILIPINOS are generally known to have an aversion to reading, and educators often despair at how difficult it is to make students appreciate the printed word. Given a choice between books and films, most Filipinos would opt for the moving image rather than text.

Filmmaker and teacher Nick de Ocampo offers a solution: Why not make students learn from the best Filipino movies?

That is exactly what he hopes will result from his new book, SineGabay: A Film Study Guide. A listing of 100 of the best Filipino movies, the book helps teachers and students “read” films, decode the messages they contain, and learn lessons to supplement what they learn —or fail to—from books.

SineGabay literally offers the gamut of Pinoy movies from A to Z. It starts with the very apt 2001 film “Abakada Ina” starring Lorna Tolentino as the illiterate mother who becomes obsessed with educating herself after realizing how the lack of education has caused her and her family a multitude of problems. The book ends with “Zamboanga,” a film made in 1937 starring Fernando Poe Sr. and Rosa del Rosario, and discusses the travails of a young Muslim couple in love and overcoming the odds.

The book catalogs each film and provides basic information: the year of production, producers, length, cast, synopsis. It then offers areas of study to which the film can be useful. In “Abakada Ina,” the recommended areas of study are children and young people, education, family, values education, women. For “Zamboanga,” a film produced during the American occupation of the Philippines, de Ocampo suggests colonialism/neo-colonialism, Filipino-American relation, Muslim life and faith as areas of study.

De Ocampo then lists objectives for studying the film, and guide questions corresponding to the areas of study. He also points out each film’s cinematic focus, as well as whom to contact to obtain a copy of the film.

Such a structured study of film aims to provide students with what de Ocampo calls film literacy, which he defines as “the act of acquiring knowledge and values through the use of movies.” In this context, literacy means enabling a person “to ‘read’ audiovisual symbols,” going beyond understanding the film to adopting “a more comprehensive regard of media in their contents, form and functions.” “To be film literate,” de Ocampo says, “is to be able to use media for personal or social development rather than to be merely used or manipulated by media.”

De Ocampo offers guideposts in analyzing the elements of a film—the shot, cut and movement, aside from the usual ingredients of story and character, design, editing, sound and music. Aside from these, he urges students and teachers to be informed about the film’s context, which includes studying its significance as well as the social and political situation during the period in which it was produced.

SineGabay’s listing contains not just feature films produced by the film studios but also documentaries as well as the recent crop of “indie” or independently produced movies. De Ocampo included documentaries such as “Bunso” and “Minsan Lang Sila Bata” directed by Ditsi Carolino, and a 2007 Cinemalaya entry “Endo” directed by Jade Francis Castro.

In the end, what the book really espouses is critical thinking on the part of an audience whose love for movies often dulls them into blindly accepting what they see and hear. National Artist Bienvenido Lumbera has this to say about SineGabay in the foreword: “SineGabay is a guidepost for historians, critics and filmmakers. Its listing of Filipino films available for viewing make it an excellent introduction to the study of the forms and concerns of Filipino film production. Film criticism classes can profit from the catalogue which lists a wide variety of feature productions on which young critics can hone their critical tools.”

IF numbers represented money, wouldn’t more people be interested in them?

The innocuously titled book, “Your Guidebook to Effective and Transparent National Budget Legislation: Philippine Setting,” shows how true this can be. The product of 15 years of observation and research, the book is the work of former accountants and managers who banded themselves to form the Center for National Budget Legislation. It is published by J.A. Ranola Consultancy.

It is aimed primarily at fledgling legislators and their staff who want a crash course in the intricacies of the budgetary process, as well as other government executives, nongovernment watchdog groups and even media who want to understand a little-known but highly important process in the bureaucracy.

Going through the chapters, one realizes that it is a book every Filipino interested in good governance must have. For it is not just the national budget that is taken up here: The functions of the different branches of government and basic questions in economics and finance are given a good discussion as well.

As soon as the discussion begins, the reader is also made aware that the guidebook is more than just what it says it is. More than just being a neutral source of information, its authors are advocates of good government and anti-corruption. And that is what the book is really all about.

Many Filipinos know about Congress’s much-vaunted power over the purse. Legislators themselves are not averse to reminding executive officials about this. Out of pique, legislators have been heard to declare that a budget of only P1 will be given to an agency whose head does not show up in a hearing. This is why executive officials never absent themselves from meetings called by the House Appropriations Committee and the Senate’s Finance Committee. The same officials might try to evade inquiries by the Blue Ribbon Committee—a body that likes to describe itself as powerful—but they will never do so to the wielders of true clout, the budget and finance committees.

But is it a power that is correctly and justly used? The book answers this by raising questions in the approved budgets studied from fiscal years 2002 to 2007 and the proposed appropriations bill for 2008.

Why, for example, were the budgets approved by Congress in fiscal years 2003 and 2005 bigger than those submitted by Malacanang? In 2003, the proposed national budget for the National Expenditure Program of P605.2 billion was increased to P609.6 billion. In 2005, the proposed NEP of P446 billion was jacked up to P597 billion, or an increase of P152 billion.

The book asks if the increases were a violation of the Constitution which states: “Congress may not increase the appropriations recommended by the President for the operation of the Government as specified in the budget. The form, content and manner of preparation of the budget shall be prescribed by law.”

In a section quaintly named “Dagdag-Bawas,” the authors point to the hefty increases in the budgets of some agencies like the Department of Public Works and Highways. In the 1997 budget, the DPWH received from Congress a “dagdag” of P5.9 billion. From Malacanang’s proposed budget of P65.2 billion for the agency, the appropriation approved by legislators amounted to P71.2 billion.

On the other hand, Congress apparently had no problem slashing the Department of Social Work and Development’s budget from the proposed P4 billion to P3.5 billion, or a reduction of P453 million.

Why was the Agrarian Reform Fund given allocations for personal services that were often higher than those given to the Department of Agrarian Reform even though the former does not even have a plantilla? The allocations usually amounted to more than P1 billion. And in a puzzling case of now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t, such budgets for the ARF’s personal services were present in the years 2002, 2003, 2006 and 2007 but not in the years 2004, 2005 and 2008. The guidebook asks: What was the fund really intended for and where was it used?

And then there is the Unprogrammed Fund. The fund, which refers to appropriations that are not supported by corresponding resources, should be used only when government revenues exceed targets. Yet, the guidebook says, releases have been made in the past even before surplus revenues were declared. From P61.1 billion in 2007, the Unprogrammed Fund in the proposed national budget for 2008 has ballooned to P114.4 billion, or an 87 percent increase over the past year. Where is so much money going and where will it come from?

Beyond exposing possible wrongdoing in government, the guidebook’s real value lies in empowering readers to ask questions. But this they can only do if they know the intricacies of the budgetary process, the loopholes and the mysteries.

It is also a book that can benefit from a less polite title such as, “How Government Officials Are Robbing You Blind.”

MANY Filipinos would find it hard to find a Tagalog word for “honest.” Matapat, the oft-cited word, comes closer to the English word “faithful.” Malinis is clean, which could refer to many other things. The debate goes on.

They would find it easy, however, to come up with local equivalents for the word “corrupt.” In the book, “Corruptionary: Natatanging diksyonaryo ng mga salitang korapsyon,” the authors found not one or just a few but 450 words that mean or are related to the word. The origins of the expressions, however, are not government alone but mass media as well. Corrupt practices, after all, abound not just in the bureaucracy and officialdom that journalists like to criticize but in their own industry as well.

The book is the result of a project by political science students from the University of the Philippines-Manila who were taking part in a Volunteers Integration Program at the Center for People Empowerment and Governance (CenPEG) in 2006 and 2007. What began as 100 words easily increased four-fold.

Each word or phrase has a definition, the origin of its acquired meaning, and an example of its usage. For the benefit of the non-Tagalog speaker, there is also a guide to pronunciation.

Most words or phrases are easy to understand even without their definitions. “Anak ng diyos,” for example, is understood by almost every Filipino as someone who enjoys the protection and privileges as a result of his connection with a higher official. But the development of another layer of this privileged class is wryly reflected in the newer phrase, “baby ng anak ng diyos.”

And of course, there are those expressions first heard during the NBN-ZTE hearings, such as “bubukol,” “tongpats,” and “moderate the greed.”

Every word or expression finds its roots in the Filipinos’ sense of humor. “Three Little Pigs” is the unfortunate, though funny, phrase given to the P1,000 bill, so named because of the three faces found on that denomination.

Many words are familiar, although not in the way the reader thinks they mean. “Dead,” for example does not mean end of life in this particular dictionary, but “one hundred pesos.” Unlike other words where the evolved meanings are explained, this one is not.

True to the Pinoys’ penchant for pointing out contrasts, the book observes that while there is such a thing as a “bituing may ningning” (i.e., a rich person being targeted for victimization by corrupt individuals), there is also a “bituing walang ningning” (i.e. a poor person who is probably not worth victimizing).

While the abundance of expressions relating to corruption may surprise the reader, it may be discomforting to realize that the collection is still not quite complete. Mention is made, for example, of the phrase, “crying money,” which means money for an illegal transaction. But how many know of its unmentioned twin—“smiling money”—which means money given without any expressed intention? As the authors of the book have indicated, many more contributions to this first edition are expected.

Dr. Ronnie V. Amorado, of UP Mindanao and Ateneo de Davao, whose earlier studies and books were the source of many of the words used in Corruptionary, says that corruption—and anticorruption—is “becoming a distinct subculture that contains its own set of words and codes and virtues. To understand corruption, those fighting it must know the contexts and usages of the language that has evolved over time.

Many readers would shake their heads in amusement after finishing the book. There is, however, a sense of sadness that comes with the realization that the world of corruption is one that is like to be with us for a long time—unless we find the words that will define what we want ourselves to become.