A History In Argument: My First Loss And The Soul-Crushing Win Right After

05-20-09

I still remember the first time I was beaten ‘soundly’ in an argument. (‘Trounced’ was the word used by a friend privy to what counted in my life then as an ‘event’.) It was my first year in college. There was an Art Appreciation class that had an online group where the students (there were three sections at least) could engage in ‘intellectual discussions’ regarding art for bonus points in our final grade. Most of the discussions were boring; usually nothing more than a blind rehashing of previous concepts. They explicated one concept after another in the orthodox manner already prescribed in class. There was nothing for me to engage in until the discussion turned to movies, or as they called it, ‘film.’

 

The question posed was this: Are Filipino movies better than American movies? Dozens of students of course responded, all with the answer that yes, Filipino movies were actually better than American movies. I found it annoying at first. Isn’t it a fact that American (or to broaden that, foreign) films grossed more, locally, than our own productions? Not that I’m saying just because morons like something, it immediately should be considered ‘better’ in any way. I should know that more than anything by now. But it all just seems more than a little phony when people like me (i.e. La Sallians, i.e. middle-class upwards) would actually say that Filipino movies were better than anything else when most wouldn’t be caught dead in any major screening of it without a plausible excuse, e.g. ‘I only watch Marian Rivera movies for the kitsch factor, not the kilig factor…’ etc. (That’s how the word kitsch is used by the way. Someone owes me an apology!) So when the dozen student responses became almost everyone in class, I had to step in and finally, say something.

 

My argument started with what I had said above. I wasn’t questioning the artistic worth of any Filipino film (at least not in that venue) and I’m sure plenty of such films won awards abroad. (We had just watched Maynila Sa Kuko Ng Liwanag.) What bothered me was the visceral reaction of the students to the question. As if they felt that there was a ‘right’ answer, i.e. knee-jerk nationalism. Anything framed in such an unfair manner as ‘ours’ versus ‘theirs’ will always result in ‘ours’ winning. I mean, look at the justifications for such a (to my mind) ridiculous assertion: Filipino movies are better because they have moral values, speak to our souls, by us and for us, and (I swear) because they give jobs to deserving people. Disregarding any aesthetic considerations (since I think movies are just movies and have no ideas regarding cinematography or lighting or whatever) or the script as literary text (since I found the whole MSKNL story banal and not at all so far beyond the average city maid’s story― maybe it was all so new when the movie was released, but it’s just another cliché now), I really had nothing to say about Filipino movies. Except that these students who keep declaring how great they are should honestly shut up because they couldn’t even tell me the last Filipino film they saw outside of class.

 

And of course I wrote all of that badly. I didn’t make the point immediately clear. The insight gleaned from the whole thing seemed only to be: Filipino movies suck (and oh yeah, fuck you). Which I guess was kind of a side-note to what I was really trying to say, that you should stop pretending to like Filipino movies when you really don’t, because if you did you would watch them. Dozens of students responded to some point of mine, but never all. Most of them saying, in a fanciful roundabout manner, that Filipino movies ‘rule.’ I always responded promptly. They never responded back. But my professor did.

 

A word about my professor. She was young and always looked very stern― the special look of the Serious Pedant. I’m not being snide at all. I mean, she taught Art Appreciation and constantly wore black turtlenecks. She really did have that look. I’m not saying she was stupid, but she took ‘Art’ so very seriously. And I could never take any person without a sense of humor seriously. In case everything prior seems like an insult, let me just say that she is very pretty. (She probably would be very offended by that since it assumes calling a woman pretty will ease all pains. But it’s a fact; she is pretty.) And I learned a new word from her. (‘Windang.’ It’s a synonym for crazy, e.g. ‘Nakaka-windang si ――’ means ‘―― drives me crazy.’ I rarely use the word, but when I do, the image of Sisa  from Noli Me Tangere (I think) keeps popping up in my head.) So there. That’s her.

 

All this time the whole cyber-hoopla is taking place (the first of many, I am ashamed to admit), I’m up in my dorm giggling, basically, while typing up another waterproof (at least for me and the morons who tried to trip me up) reply to every argument lobbied against mine. Everyone always retained the same arguments. We only tuned them up as we went. One by one, the students dropped out of contention. They didn’t even tell me I won. Just disappeared. I was understandably very happy and very proud of myself. I had beaten everyone in three classes. Life was good.

 

Then as if from of a ham-fisted chunk of Regulation Ironic Foreshadowing from another carpentered Student Fiction Piece, when everything seemed to be so well, it wasn’t. I guess my professor had waited a long time for someone to parry my thrusts and give glory to our great country. But no one could, so she did. I remember how she went about ‘beating’ me. Throughout the whole series of rallies back and forth (four of them if I’m not mistaken), here are some of the things she did.

 

She isolated the argument away from my indestructible (I still think so) position of ‘You are all being hypocritical saying something is better when you don’t even support it’ (I know it’s an ad hominem and it isn’t logically necessary that recognition of worth precedes patronizing but it’s basically commonsensical) and veered into the whole ‘Art isn’t always appreciated’ pabulum. She then proceeded to list the varieties of things that make Filipino movies at par, if not better, that their foreign counterparts; none of which really matters now (or even then, now that I think of it), all technical ‘filmmaking stuff.’ I could only swat at the weaker, moral parts of her arguments, e.g. our stories don’t really speak to us more than tells us that it is okay to be poor and stupid and naïve, if not better. You understand how a precocious college freshman would be paralyzed by all this, right? That was my biggest fear then: a barrage of indubitable facts I couldn’t break down because I didn’t yet have the expertise. I mean, I could play with words and arguments without even really thinking about it, only as long as I know as much as my opponent does. Because it usually is the case that when we know the same things, I win by virtue of my mad skills in reason (I find having ‘mad’ skills in ‘reason’ extremely mirthful!). But I didn’t then. So when she brought up the example of Pablo Picasso and how he wasn’t appreciated in his lifetime and am I actually going to say he sucked artistically?, I was pretty much confused and speechless. (I didn’t even have the awareness to point out, politely, that it wasn’t even the fucking point we were supposed to be discussing.) And all I could say back after a weak rebuttal was (verbatim― checked my Yahoo! account): ‘sIGh… oF aLL tHe pEOpLe nA pWeDe kOng mA-oFFenD… : )’

 

I’m kidding of course. I may have spoke Taglish around that time and typed in alternating caps once in a while (mostly when I was feeling ‘cute’) but I never am that way when it comes to serious stuff, as I treated an… online argument (God, what a precedent for all my internet problems thereafter). I really did say that, though, about her being the last person I wish I would’ve offended, including the smiley-face at the end. Not that I’m scared of her in any way. Just that I wanted to win. It was probably the same with her. I find it hard to imagine that an intelligent woman such as her would fail to see my salient point and shoot off at non-agreed upon tangents just like that. She did know, I think now, what I was trying to say; but chose to ignore it for fear of losing, and exposing her bias for Shallow Nationalism as nothing more than that: a bias. She didn’t want to engage in an ‘intellectual dialogue’ or some other pretentious formulation like it; she didn’t want to face the possibility of losing, changing her mind. She wanted to win, period.

 

And now if I might be indulged in a lasting life-lesson. Arguing shouldn’t be for the sake only of winning. We’re dealing with beliefs― and consequently, lives― here. It isn’t a vehicle to strut around in and showcase just how amazing you personally are, but as an exercise to find out― or at least get us closer to― the Truth, capital-T. If I were a weak and suggestible dolt, that experience of being dismantled beyond all recognition― in front of dozens of rabid children (who all, by then, despised the me that they knew) who were inordinately happy to witness an unequivocal whipping of someone who seemed to be so untouchable― all of itwould have been taken as a Humbling Experience; that I am But A Small Part Of A Larger World, that I am not the Smartest Person in the world, etc., etc. But I’m neither weak nor suggestible, and the reaction I engendered from my professor not only failed to downgrade my self-worth, but shot it through the roof; I mean, if I weren’t so um, formidable, my professor wouldn’t need to resort to such tortuous lengths, to such  underhanded tricks, just to beat me.

 

I’ve gotten better though― I can admit that I lost that exchange. I had an intuitive feel that I was being cheated but didn’t know how. So I lost. I would live. And the next time someone would employ a similar argumentative tactic, it wouldn’t be pretty.

 

One last thing. A very large part of understanding how someone such as me, i.e. a rare slice of humanity, treats ‘intellectual discussions/arguments’ is the fact that I am a very very sore loser but an amazingly graceful winner. You can really ask people about this. When I win, I won’t say it was all because of dumb luck (since that would be disrespectful of the other’s hard work) or because of God (since that would entail God being on my side and even I’m not that arrogant); I will say I won, but I don’t stick it in too deep. I just make sure they knew that I won, and leave, as said, gracefully. Losing to me isn’t that big of a deal for me or anyone else. It is usually the case. My nonchalance makes it easier to get down.

 

Now let’s talk about me losing. I am a very bad loser, especially when I feel cheated or spun around without me knowing how. Perfect example would be the exchange with my professor. I was so confused at that time how I lost that argument. I felt duped in that encounter with not a superior class of mind, just more knowledgeable. Instead of engaging in an honest argument pursuing Truth, e.g. the way Socrates prescribes doing, she unleashed a stream of dialectical trickery at me, twisting my words on purpose to destroy my position and leave me with nothing, e.g. the way Socrates actually does things. (I have finally managed, in a non-forced manner, an insider-joke for Philosophy majors and enthusiasts!)

 

I was very upset to say the least. I pretty much shut up in class after that. My classmates would tell me that it was my fault, arguing with someone so much smarter. I remember knowing then that my professor was aware of who I was when she took a millisecond-longer look at me after calling out my name in attendance. I remember the faint, mocking curl on her lips. I was determined to forget about it.

 

The class talked about Akira Kurosawa two weeks later. I correctly appreciated the film Yojimbo and my essay on the prevalent themes of the movie (entitled Yojimbo: Themes Great!― you get it, right?) got a 3.5 (very high in that class) and I went back to our online group to unload some more insights I had during repeated viewings. But first I read a couple of posts. There were a lot since the bonus-system was perceived to be tied-in to frequency of posting. I read the first one after my concession to the professor. (She didn’t deem it worthy to reply, by the way.) I remember reading it only because it was written by someone with a very stupid name, a triad of one-shot syllables in quick succession: I’m guessing that if it isn’t Sir John Boy, it would be something in the vicinity of its inherent stupidity.

 

What I remember now is that he was siding with the professor and subjected me to more unsubstantiated abuse, e.g. I wasn’t patriotic, I still had to have my head purged of Colonial Mentality, etc. All this wouldn’t really ruffle me that much. Given that I had won. But I didn’t. I felt then that I was down and bloody after battling with a heavyweight-class (let’s please suppose that I am a middleweight, okay), and here comes this pinweight-class child kicking me gleefully, assuming (mistakenly) that I have been chastened by the whole experience and would accept his derision wholeheartedly.

 

Now comes the part where my sore-loser side comes rising up.

 

Instead of me being (relatively) nice and making the boy see how wrong he was even in his understanding of what I was trying to say, and therefore having no right whatsoever to tell me why I was wrong, and understanding that this was probably a middle-of-the-road intellect trying to score points with our professor for siding with her and kicking on a murdered horse (i.e. me), I disregarded my stray insights re: Yojimbo and went at him full-force. It was something else. You should have seen it.

 

How his two paragraphs, totaling about four hundred intermediate-level words strung together, were obliterated by the two thousand words (okay so it was bloated, but it was still better than his) I keyed in (angrily!) at my laptop. How I started with his name (I think it went something like, ‘I can’t believe I am honestly debating frickin’ (yes, I was once ‘That Guy’) art with someone named Sir John Boy’― it was very cheap, I know) and, one by one, clinically destroyed his arguments using his own words. It was limpid anger. Everything I couldn’t say to my professor― because she would probably eat them up, and/or fail me, which was a big deal to me then― I said to this sycophantic drone. And the professor didn’t even defend him. He certainly couldn’t do it himself. Every reply of his leave one shred of self-dignity, as in ‘at least I was right about this,’ or ‘you have to give me this point,’ and I didn’t! I really didn’t! I choked the fucker out one inch at a time until he had nothing more to say, nothing more to preserve, nothing else to hang on to. He was nothing. And I made him feel every last bit of what he was.

 

He could’ve just shut up, you know. He could’ve just shaken his head at the chutzpah of this one student who tried (and failed) to say something different, even if it was against the professor’s established opinion. But he had to say something. He had to win. It was easy, now that he knew his position was the ‘right one.’ He tried, and was subsequently destroyed. He still may have nightmares about it. Imagine your stupidity being proved in front of anyone with a Yahoo! account. Every word taken away by someone so far beyond you. Nothing left to curl up on. Now he knows his place.

 

I really don’t feel sorry at all.