By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

RECENTLY, so many “pa-cute” reels of politicians pass through my feeds, on Facebook, Thread, Instagram, and X. Some of them pose like harmless, beautiful, desirable faces, love teams, others post tender moments with their families, others lace the reels with humor, even rehashed curses, the more vile the better, even cursing God. Perhaps this draws its roots from the way movie and TV stars are packaged, a distinct quality that the public remembers and appeals to their most instinctive and subliminal drives. The election will be held on 08 May 2028, and already, social media is flooded with these images, trying to drown out the trillion-dollar flood control project scandals with their thick, unrepentant faces.

The ordinary person on the street with access to mobile phones may look at these images, but nothing supplants the overwhelming experience of daily life, the rising cost of basic needs, wading through dirty floodwaters, and the overarching image of money spread out on the table to be divided among corrupt politicians. This reality is starting to sink in, that corruption affects lives in more direct ways than anything meant to “delete” or obfuscate the stark realities.

Advocates for real change see this as a sign of hope, that the ordinary man can think of “corruption” as they plow the streets to peddle their goods in between vehicles and big trucks on highways and busy streets, stalled in traffic. It is fascinating to note that almost immediately, when they think of “corruption”, they think “politician”. “Honorable” has left the room, and shouts of “ikulong na yan!” reverberate in the air, like wildfire.

 

The famished road

a glimpse of your existence
that’s what is important now
even if tomorrow you are gone
and return at my door
three years after
to pay me another visit
to buy my soul, again

now means a kilo of rice
a pack of noodles
and cans of sardines
to live for another day
a big bargain
for one decrepit old woman
and her cats who lost their skins
fending off rabid dogs
on a famished road

I can be a patriot another day
another time, snatch your breath
and some jewelry
and dip my forefinger in your blood
and write at your door, “Not guilty!”
Because truly you are not
more guilty than I am
of the crime
for which we suffer
our own decay.

Share your Comments or Reactions

comments

Powered by Facebook Comments