Feelings
Clearing the Fog
By Emmanuelle
This stories must be told, before more half-truth or near-truth but never the complete unadulterated truth shall cloud the clarity and the genuineness of all details of these actual incidents. Before somebody’s overactive imagination shall manufacture more and thicker fog of misinformation or disinformation of the events of Election 2007 in this eastern town of Pangasinan. But more importantly, before witnesses shall disappear into nano space. Including and most specifically, this writer.
Our regular readers can guess the identity of the eastern town at third paragraph. They know the town, and they know me – too much and too well.
Past midnight, May 14. The two-way radio sputters: the canvassers are hesitant to leave the school grounds of Barangays BAT and BON. Both compounds are largely unlit. Motorcycle riders are in strategic formation outside and inside the gates, their machines running. Also, two big trucks of the main opposition candidate G occupy both sides of the gate exit.
The party headquarters I am covering contact the PNP mobiles for assistance to bring the ballots out. Meanwhile, no other male volunteers are around to proceed to the site to secure the unofficial poll results. Breathing out sighs of exasperation, three women stand up in unison. They run to the car owned by A, married but childless. The two others, J and W, have three kids each. Seeing they are unescorted, I run to join them. The only weapon we have is my camera and press I.D.
As we enter the gate of the school, we see the motorcycles, their riders, and the two trucks. Inside the gates we see a few more motorcycles and their riders in company with the Barangay head who is known to be with the opposition. The women secure the unofficial results quickly. They lose here by a few hundreds. We meet J’s husband and his best friend. We tell them to take care. They say they’ll leave at 6AM.
Where there was none before, a big van blocks half of the exit gate. The other half is half-closed. I get out to push back the half-closed gate, my press I.D. in full view. The car inches out. Suddenly, all the motorcycles gun their motors, switching on all their lights. I blinked blindly but fiercely back. They let us leave. If only the car has wings.
The women obtain the unofficial results from the next poll center, Barangay PA. They win here by a few hundreds, enough to cover the losses in Barangays BAT and BON with a little extra. We do not notice any security threat here. We drive to the last poll center, Barangay PAL.
As we enter the school ground, we notice a dark unlighted pick-up with motor running. It is parked backing the basketball court. Two men are in the front seats. The women walk to the school building. As I wait, I meet Mrs. AT. We acknowledge each other politely; Mrs. AT is a caterer and a rabid opposition loyalist. After a few minutes, the canvassers and watchers leave the school building and proceed to the basketball court, lugging the election boxes with them. As my companions board the car to go back to their headquarters, I lag behind to ask one of the two PNP men assigned to the poll center. “Whose pick-up is that? The motor had been idling when we arrived.” The policeman said, “Mrs. AT rode in that pickup. She volunteered to bring the ballot boxes to the town.” He points out to a white van just outside the right gate. “That belongs to the opposition mayoralty candidate.”
I request the man to follow proper electoral protocol, to call for the PNP mobile for canvassers’ transport, and not to allow the ballot boxes to ride any other vehicle belonging to any of the contending parties. I decide to wait. My women companions decide to wait with me.
After more or less thirty minutes, another dark vehicle arrives. The people around whisper the passengers are outgoing Kagawad S and his wife, probably an incoming Kagawad. Also, the wife of the opposition mayoralty candidate. The vehicle slowly but confidently backs exactly to a spot in the basketball court where the ballot boxes are. Someone gets out, opens its baggage compartment. I frantically request the policeman to stop the vehicle’s passengers from doing what we perceive to be their intention. The policeman complies. The vehicle distances itself a few feet from the basketball court, its motor running. It is still the nearest vehicle to the poll boxes.
Two big trucks owned by mayoral candidate G arrives. Motorcyles arrive. The same ones as in Barangay BAT and BON? A white open truck arrives too. A woman in slacks approaches. She says to me “Why don’t we do it this way? This truck is volunteered by Barangay TAL. Why don’t the canvassers and the ballot boxes ride this truck, together with the watchers?”
I ask, “And who are you, please?”
She replies, “I am from Barangay TAL.”
I say “That’s the barangay of the opposition mayoralty, 5-6 barangays away. Who are you please? Whom are you representing?”
She sighs. She gives up. She says, “I am with G.”
I nod. I see. “If you don’t mind, we keep to the protocol as I had insisted from the very beginning. You and I wouldn’t want to be charged with ballot-snatching, would we?”
She raises eyes, arms to heaven. Voiceless, she joins the waiting crowd, now increasing by the minute. Vehicles, people from the three women’s headquarters arrive. We ignore them. A lot of other vehicles arrive. We stop counting or trying to take note of their ownership. My skin is crawling.
The whole force of the municipal PNP arrives, on motorcycles. The highest ranking among them, a major, tries his best to persuade us to take the Barangay TAL truck as suggested by the G woman, but with the PNP as full escort. For guidance, I look at the teachers now tiredly sitting on the ballot boxes. They say “We had waited this long. We can wait longer for the PNP mobile.
It’s now 4:30 AM. We had been here since 2 AM. I begin to sneeze with the coming of dawn. Meanwhile, some of the PNP men and the locals tinker with the defective Barangay PAL mobile vehicle. It starts.
The major asks if it would be all right if the canvassers and the boxes take their Barangay PAL vehicle? The teachers all agree. The watchers all agree. We agree. It is the right and proper vehicle.
Up to now, I still wonder. Why did that horrid G woman from Barangay TAL suddenly recover her voice. She shouted directions. She bullied everybody, even the sweet-tempered PNP major. Rush, rush, rush.
Up to now, I still wonder. Why the running motors, why the big trucks, why the motorcycles with blue ribbons? Rush, rush, rush.
Did the world stop running that night? And whose world stopped?
(More next week.)
(For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/)
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