Now comes
the morning after

From Round 3 onwards, it was clear Pacquiao would win his coveted fourth championship belt. One could just bet on which round he would finally put away the clearly overwhelmed Diaz. That the latter stood his ground, bloodied throughout, is a testament to his big heart indeed, but there was little he could do to withstand the Pacman’s strong punches.

For millions of Filipinos, mostly poor, who watched their hero conquer the boxing world, it was a moment of pride. Ang galing ni Pacman…ang galing ng Pinoy!

For a few moments of giddy triumphant feelings, the misery of Panay was forgotten, along with the anguish over Sulpicio’s ghost boat, the terror of Endosulfan poisoning the fish that we eat, the specter of unending fuel prices, and all the misery and hardship that have become part and parcel of living in these islands.

Congratulations, Manny. You are truly world-class!

But then comes the morning after. La Doña is back in town. She is back after spending perhaps a hundred million pesos, likely more, of the people’s money, in a "working" visit that had nothing by way of justification.

She exchanged pleasantries with a patronizing dork who nobody in his country minds anymore because soon he will be in the dustbin of their history. And all she heard was how great a cook he had in the White House, and how by inference, he valued "Philippine-Americans." How that meeting at the Oval Office lasted beyond ten minutes is a mystery. Introducing her cabinet must have taken all the time.

And how the Doña, herself of better brains, could pretend like she appreciated what the lameduck beside her was mumbling throughout, is also a classic of diplomatic hypocrisy.

Barack Obama snubbed her, but was gracious enough to phone in his condolences at the misery her countrymen were undergoing, as if to tell her, "What the hell are you doing here chasing after me and McCain, while your countrymen are in such misery?" Her spinmasters spun that short talk into all of thirty minutes, and pasted his perfunctory press release to the reports of that embarrassing episode. As for McCain, he endured her for ten minutes or so, and merely reminisced at his R and R in Clark after his wartime exploits in Vietnam. What else could he say to this woman, without offending the sensibilities of some half a million voting "Philippine-Americans"?

Looking at the television footages sent home by Malacañang’s RTVM, the Dona didn’t look so pleased. (But her Ronnie the Tree flew all the way to the Potomac a month before and asked his friends to inveigle McCain to grant audience to this woman who does not understand the meaning of either class or dignity.) She really must have been an Obama fan, and rued the snub he gave. Now she had to endure this corny 71-year old instead of the much younger, much wittier Barry, whom she knew most "Philippine-Americans" rooted for anyhow.

That done, and her "utang na loob" (for what?) to Miriam Defensor Santiago who dreams of being in the International Court of Justice dispensed with after a visit to Manhattan’s East Side earlier, the Doña flew back home, by way of San Francisco (without visiting their extensive properties there?). In any case, the accountants must have visited her in her suite to give financial reports.

Yes she is back, unfortunately, and today she is supposed to be in Iloilo, to "commiserate" (kuno) with her husband’s kasimanwa, and to dole out relief that should have been there the day after Frank ravaged the rice granary of the entire Visayas, had she been here instead of gallivanting from West to East Coast of the US of A.

And the morning after Pacquiao’s magnificent triumph, the poor are all back looking at their navels, beneath which a grumbling stomach awaits the morsels of high-priced food they could scrape. And we who belong to the middle-class have to endure the sights and sounds of this terrible leader barking orders that we know will not amount to anything good in the end.

***

Judicial terrorism is how to best describe that strange and bizarre decision handed down by this Makati RTC Judge Reynaldo Laigo. Picture a group of gangsters storming into a bar, ready to pounce on their prey, who happen to be inside. There’s this group of innocent bystanders, or maybe even "usiseros" who are in the way, and the gangsters pummel them with blows. "Kayo kasi, hahara-hara kayo sa daan!" is in street lingo, what this judge’s decision really amounts to.

Except that the decision touches the very nerve of press freedom, which of course, to this fascist of a judge, is no "sacred cow," even if democracy elevates such freedom into its pantheon.

"Magpasalamat pa nga kayo at hindi kayo ang kinasuhan ng pulis," was what Laigo’s decision said in effect.

Yet anyone who saw footages of how mediamen and even a former vice-president and a retired bishop, were hauled to Bagong Diwa in handcuffs and all, and treated like common criminals, shuddered at the sight.

Senator Nene Pimentel is right. "I view with alarm the Makati Regional Trial Court’s ruling on the Manila Peninsula affair that might lead to suppression of press freedom and the people’s right to information and ultimately the institution of police state," Nene said.

With a president so desperate, with a people so cowed, and with an economy that will soon be plagued by hunger and disorder, Nene’s fears are not at all unfounded. And only the Supreme Court can declare Laigo’s decision arrant nonsense, but when? After Gloria’s generals and gangsters have taken over?

God help us.