Suspicious minds

I’ve been getting some odd looks from strangers lately. Just the other day, I was sitting in a local food court when an elderly Filipino man started talking to me. He asked if I was Spanish. "No, American," I said. Suddenly, his face darkened; he leaned toward me in a confiding manner. From past experience, when somebody does this, I am prepared to be asked if I feel any sense of danger as an American living in the Philippines.

But no. He wanted to talk about the Nida Blanca case. And I thought: uh-oh, here we go again...

"Do you think that American... is guilty?"

I thought of about five different responses to this question, none of which would have placated this old man. Why, for instance, did he think I had any insight into the case – let alone the soul of Rod Lauren Strunk? Simply because I was an American?

I said I didn’t know. This did not please the old man much. He shook his head, saying it was "shameful" if the testimony of self-proclaimed witness Philip Medel were true. I nodded my head in agreement, wanting to go back to my own business.

It’s not easy being an American right now, trust me. It leads to strange scenarios. Weeks ago, Filipinos would routinely ask me if I felt any fears about being kidnapped or killed in Manila. Now it appears Filipinos have a latent fear of being kidnapped or killed by Americans.

Not only that, but complete strangers tend to give you the once-over, as though they’re sizing up your capacity to do evil deeds.

When I finally excused myself, saying I had some urgent business back on Planet Earth, the old guy sniffed and gave me this parting shot: "You’re not so tall for an American. Most young American men are over six feet."

Ouch. It’s bad enough being unconsciously lumped in with supposed killers. But to be called short on top of that...

Of course, now I know how many Arab-Americans must feel these days, enduring suspicious looks from white Americans who wouldn’t have bothered them before Sept. 11. Yes, it’s very disconcerting to be viewed as an outsider, or as "the other." But in fact I’ve been in that position all along in the Philippines, and it’s never been truly unpleasant. To be considered a novelty, a kano, a stranger looking in from behind the lines – that’s always been a good vantage point for observing this culture. Now, however, it seems I’m the one under the microscope.

When I first heard about the Nida Blanca case, I was horrified, like all Filipinos. I don’t know what the full truth is, any more than the rest of the public does. But to hear the PNP’s possible suspect described as "an American" made me privately wince. When the newspapers started calling him "an Australian," I breathed a little easier. But they’ve since gone back to his American roots, so I don’t know where I stand.

For some Filipinos, I guess, the words "American" and "killer" naturally go together, like "peanut butter and jelly" or "rum and coke." I suppose the O.J. Simpson case looms large in people’s consciousness, although the former athlete was found innocent of criminal charges (a civil case turned out differently: he was found guilty and ordered to pay the victims’ families huge sums). We hear of so many horrendous explosions of violence in the US – like the two New Bedford, Massachusetts, students recently arrested with an arsenal who were planning a Columbine-style high school massacre – that the explosions of Sept. 11 shouldn’t seem out of place; yet of course they are different.

Everything’s different now. Black is white, up is down. I can deal with this strangeness for the time being. But I wish the Nida Blanca case wasn’t being played out as public spectacle, the way so many other serious events are handled here. I mean, let the police finish a methodical investigation, just as they would any other case (uh-oh, maybe that’s not such a great idea after all...) Let the NBI conduct their own inquiry, if it will help. But please, let’s keep this from degenerating further into media circus, just as the Estrada trial has, and every other "hearing in aid of legislation" cooked up by the Senate from week to week. Crude theatrics are not the pathway to justice or truth. The whole spectacle of the Medel recantation seems to come straight from the O.J. Simpson School of Acting ("If the witness pitches a fit, you must acquit!").

I can only agree with Butch Dalisay, who noted in a recent column that everyone from the avid Nida Blanca fan to the local turon vendor is being asked their opinion on the case. Opinions are simply that, and have no place in criminal investigations, a point which the media seem to ignore. There’s an even more troubling theme, as Butch writes: "Is it possible that some of us want to lynch the white guy because it makes us feel good about ourselves, because we’d like to think that no Filipino could be so evil?"

Anyway, just to set the record straight: yes, I am an American. No, I’m not plotting anything "funny," just trying to get through another week’s writing deadline. My wife has no large insurance policies under her name. And – witnesses can attest to this – I have never sequestered myself away for long periods of time to contemplate the Bible.

Unfortunately, I don’t have such easy answers – or assurances – for that funny old stranger who took my measurements in the food court. It occurred to me to make some sarcastic reply after his comment about my height (something along the lines of: "Sir, I believe you’ve got lengua sauce on your chin."). But even the sharpest weapons in my arsenal – words – now seem out of place.

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