A colleague wrote a flattering sketch of an asshole gunning for a seat in the Senate, one clown whom I had tackled, some months back, in an editorial about his winsome ways with any woman he takes a fancy to.
I was told that the lecher plunks down P3 million right into the bank account of the slavered after lay as overture to waylaying her. No problem if there’s no bank account, he’ll open one pronto for adored ladylove. The lady—enunciate that properly, stress on the first syllable, “lay”—richer by a few million bucks coyly opens up nether cleft for proper accommodation. Why, I even suggested the monies may have likely been shucked off pockets of taxpayers like me; I ought to have a go at her since I’ve contributed my share in procurement of such carcass. Empathize with, oops, emphasize last syllable, please—“ass.”
Now, that’s character. Character is simply the individual’s past actions and actuations merely repeated again and again right on into the future. Shady or dubious, that character will merely repeat what ought to be refrained in the May 14 vote. He’ll buy voters who’ll oblige to be screwed and whatever manner of screwing is better left to the imagination.
Both proposition and opposition parties are proffering the likes of such loudmouths for me to choose from to fill in a dozen blanks in the May 14 official ballot.
I fancy that choosing as a Russian roulette of sorts with voter exercising suffrage, suffering or death wish. Load up a quaint revolver of 12 chambers with 12 rounds; aim for one’s foot, no, make that both feet, then, fire away like nobody’s business. Nice try at amputation, target practice, or becoming someone like Apolinario Mabini. Brains of the revolution. Sublime paralytic.
Die, nasty? Ah, the same names we’ve grown too familiarly contemptuous of, those names keep on rising to the top like pond scum because they’re the ones—they’re kith and kin-- who can afford to burn monies in every expensive run at the polls. We’re fascinated with plays with fire. We adore arson of this sort.
So there’ll likely be two Pimentels in the Senate. Had Erap not nudged his son and his wife to quit seeking Senate seats, there might have been three Estradas in the upper lawmaking chamber. There’s the looming possibility of two Cayetanos ensconced there.
In Makati, there has been a succession of Binay the hubby and Binay the missus on the mayor’s throne. And while this is going on, a Binay son is learning the ropes as councilor—likely in preparation for taking over mom and dad’s post-- while a Binay daughter is now out to convince local folks she ought to be their assigned lawmaker in the House of Representatives.
I’m trying to convince my imagination that when Divine or just maybe bovine providence let fall on these islands chunks and boulders of leadership savvy and policy-making skills, only a few hundreds went out to gather and hoard such heaven-sent talents. Thus, they kept the talents preserved as family heirlooms or escutcheons passed on from generation to generation. Yeah, that looks like a relay race through the ages.
That should explain why the knack for leading people—as the Pied Piper of Hamelin led rats—to whatever lurks or lurches in the future has become a monopoly of very few families.
The knack of those led for being led to the gallows, to the slaughter, to wherever our leaders take a whimsy to, that’s another interesting tale of electile dysfunction to be told.