The rain just started to condense the thick metro soup further when I skipped into a cab. It was a race for me, scurrying from the drudgery of the white walled work of a previous script. The smell of steaming asphalt, not yet foul, but quickly gagging in this part of town, trailed me somewhat as I fidgeted in my seat fumbling with the seatbelt. But it disappeared against the torrent of pine-in-a-wet-bundle-of-taxicab-rags kind of smell. I was off to the MRT, trying to outpace a rush hour with a completely unfair head start. An hour in fact. But the rallies were on. The Filipino mind knew traffic will be close behind.
It was in Edsa, the news informed, with couple of thousands. This day, however, far different from every other inconvenient bastard son of hassle, I was not at all ticked off. This was a show of outrage I myself desired but could not express beyond my own soulful, hollow, internal scream. It needed a medium, if not for anything else but my own longing for a ravaging of all things un-good. The cheats, the liars, the unjust, and all their familiars…I want vengeance upon them for every perceived malevolent unfairness. I want to embrace them all. Embrace. And never again let loose.
But I’m too much of a sissy today. Thankfully, much less than that of the day prior. So I do my math, geometric progression…I pray. Keep on. Keep on. Just a few more days to diminish my own hesitation so that I find the wherewithal to damn them all and go…march to where the wrong does not thrive. Soon I know, as the days go by, more and more of my cowardly counsel will abandon their cause, and I will run into the streets.
Then the cabbie did me one better. Turns out, he was in Edsa 3. a buddy of that tragic guy Lumbao (was it? I’ll change it when I get the right name). He cried out my shame for me. Not in the way of a raving oration of a distorted mind. He was sober. And wise.
He told of bygone days when they'd battle in the streets, weathering all challenges, human or natural. this rain, he said, is nothing. they'd fight gill-faced if they needed to. but it sad, he says, that the street will not be full this time. perhaps a little more of that Machiavellian loss of patrimony, or manifest oppression, and more will be so inclined to drop what they’re doing and march on. but now, ano nga naman daw magagwa ng mga taxi driver at manggagawa. di na nga makabili ang limang piso, pagnagrally pa sila, gutom na talaga sila. isang araw ding kita yun.
He begged me not to think ill of those not yet in the gutter. because their spirit is. but the failure of "she, the short one" is her own insurance against street revolution. fail the people enough to get them hungry. hungry enough to afford them an ascetic's chance to win a long distance race. And she'd have secured herself her seat by virtue of her driving people down to their destitute circumstance.
but the cabbie says, just wait awhile. pag wala ng makain, lalabas din yan. and from what I see, give it a couple of weeks; and we'd be reminded again of our own poverty, our inability to acquire our own dreams. perhaps then, he said.
Of course, much depends on whether abs-cbn will allow it. I laughed. it’s true. seems too obvious in retrospect. whenever our so-called freedom of the press expresses itself by refusing its mandate, we somehow lose courage to do what is required.
Our media can encourage and inspire people to hurry to Edsa, comforted by the fact that you've seen on TV that there are people there...many, many people. less courage is required to goad you.
but the media can also take the inspiration away. so the masses of Edsa 3 have done their part. they've gone to war, true, seeking to save themselves from a future that has come to pass and proven them correct. but in our arrogance, us, with more food on our tables, more finesse in our moves, more brand in our clothes, we scoffed at them. we saw no sin in the refusal to broadcast, even cover, the events, the NEWS, which should have brought to our attention the bravado ongoing on the streets. It's become a tool by the same sinful class, the middle, my own, to justify its own wrongful acts on Edsa 2. but what can we do. they are in power. what are they in power for.
these days, we may fail still. because we are poorer. and the rich have designed that we remain so.
But I did find courage from this cabbie. and yes, I refuse to be embarrassed when I find myself in the streets when the occasion calls for it. other people have done it for me. unknowingly of course. but I must return the favor. some day. hopefully soon
