Ballots in Christmas

By Rolo B. Cena
Hushed Poppies
Dumaguete Star Informer
24 December 2011

Some of them live in quarters in what is socially known as informal settlement sites. And still many of them live in shanties constructed along riversides, creeks, coastlines and dumpsites. Technically, the areas do not belong to them but to some rich businessmen, - some maybe Chinese, politicos or the government.

In short, they are illegal dwellers, or, roughly, “squatters” in their own land.

I have seen many of them occupy some spots of the Boulevard during lazy afternoon, creepy evening and sleepy hour of the morning. They sell a variant of commodities: from cigarettes to junk foods, stuff toys to souvenirs, and entertainment to flesh. Nope, they don’t live there; they simply work to live!

They live in areas where angels fear to tread but only politicos do. Most often, they work closely with the sweet-tongued “champions of the masses” who promise them heaven and earth, half of the moon and half of the stars. And very often than not, they gamble their lives with these tyrants who promise them some kingdoms on earth made in heaven.

In short, they allow these mentally-dehydrated and selfish dramatis personae to flap with their wings to land at some privileged spots of the arena. Take note, their wings are far more precious than these politicos’, at least for some time. Their wings are far greater than these politicos’, heaven knows that.

They thrive in areas where “bread and butter” can be available. Having been the victims of economic imbalance, they endure the heat of the sun and the chilling evening to take control of the consumerstic streets and highways and vend for life. Yes, they can vend more than anything and even everything and again, it can include what gods condemned in Sodom and Gomorrah.

Their shanties and quarters become the haven of politicos. These political marauders shake hands with them, dine with them, and play with them. And still some of them sleep with someone’s wife or daughter disguised as assistance, or sleep with enemies disguised as reconciliation.

At the end of the day, these people are winners for having made to believe that they are for having won for themselves these politicians that thrive in the porticos of Peoples’ Hall. They are always made to believe that without them their “heros” couldn’t have won the eyes of the great mass, that they are what these politicos have become, that they are these politicians’ command, that they are these politicians’ bosses. Sadly though, only a few ever realized that these politicians are connoisseurs of classical form of political art called mouth-synch.

In short, they become victims of the game only these champions dare to believe as fair play.

To Tom, Dick, and Harry, these people could have been more than what they have: untitled piece of land and contractual jobs. Most of them possess considerable sizes of agricultural lands to till in their provinces that can consequently earn for them their living and yet don’t leave, and cannot leave the metropolis due to what is known as politically decorated economic assistance in the guise of political game called “ballots.”

At the height of the disaster, they are the last to be heard or attended to. When disasters are gone, they are very well cared for and given reliefs behind thirty-second spotlights and paparazzi.

They have come in a variant of names: informal settlers, illegal dwellers, and squatters. Yet to a political wisdom, they have come only in one name even The Devil and Daniel Webster could not believe: Victims!

Sadly, they are victims of “Sendong,” the worst atmospheric disturbance to have battered the country. Yet, there is more to it than being victims: they are the used items, stuff toys, and canned foods of these classic Santa Clauses called politicos in the guise of political stuff called “ballots in Christmas.”

Please, don’t double kill the Filipinos; Beware!