Somehow the whole scene that played out over eight days ago in Metro Manila and likewise in many cities at almost the same time, has been a déjà vu of sorts, as it had turned into an exact copy of what happened many years ago, but on a grander scale. Oddly enough, the much earlier mass protest (which is thus hailed the world over as the Edsa people’s power of 1986) and these most recent ones of just a few days ago, had centered around two Philippine presidents, a father and son at that.
The cathartic poke that has led to people marching in the streets last week was easily summed up and properly bannered in three words: corruption in government. This, and the overflowing sentiment of the people from all the segments of the political spectrum were written by sages from all camps as, enough to fuel them to surge ahead with mass actions.
Fast forward to roughly a week and a day after and, as in a wicked metaphor, the water under the bridge is suddenly much calmer now. (in sick irony to the actual flooded streets and broken bridges)
After all that uproar, it’s almost as if nothing happened. If one could only listen, there’s not much trace of the wild heartbeat that raced and raged during the apex of September 21. A blogger had commented, it’s only the street sweepers who have maintained their high BP, because they had to sweep and clean the trash in the aftermath right smack into late evening.
(As old TV dramas go, the narrator at this juncture in time is supposed to read, ‘meanwhile, back at the ranch…’)
The Senate is in session and a sullen marine and designated whistle blower, calmly narrates how they’ve carried luggage after luggage of money into the residences of several political persons. Much later, his given testimony somehow hits a snag because of supposed notary complications raised by the head of the probe. The reaction is immediate. People, especially those in socmed, instantly flooded the net with protest, as if to validate a friend’s earlier observation, the people cannot be lied to anymore, we are right here listening to every word. True enough, just this afternoon at the bank, during the sleepy hour after lunch, I was amused as two security meticulously presented a blow-by-blow account of how that special session with the lone marine had gone. They could have easily narrated the rounds in a Pacquiao fight, no difference at all in controlled delivery. Amazed, I’m thinking that there’s truth after all in what’s been said, we are listening to every word. But, in the end, how will everything pan out? I remember a puppet show I once watched as a grader. The hero at the climax was pummeling the villain on the head in a combination of precise one-two-threes and all of us children were shouting wildly in pure delight. God, let it not be another déjà vu, I pray. A wicked and funny joke slowly cooking in masked men’s kitchen.
