by Danton Remoto Remote Control www.abs-cbnnews.com It was sometime in November 1989, the second month of my stay at the University of Stirling in Scotland, where I took the M.Phil. in Publishing Studies on a British Council Scholarship. The Student Council decided to hold an African party. Purpose: to raise funds for the African National Congress whose leader, Nelson Mandela, was still languishing in the prison chambers of South Africa. It was a collaborative effort on all fronts – from the African students in my university to the British students still trying, it seems, to work out what one of them called “their white, liberal guilt.” We would visit an ancient printing press in Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital, early the next day. But still I wanted to dance. So that night, I wore late 1980s party gear: canary-yellow T-shirt one size smaller, faded jeans torn at the most appropriate places, and purple suede shoes. And since the party was for dear, old Mr. Mandela, I decided to wear my c...