Perhaps it has to do with the black aura I carry around during the holiday season – or maybe it has something to do with my complexion – but I find it next to impossible to not magnetically attract traffic cops with their hand out. Cops who answer to certain adjectives beginning with the letter "C" – corrupt, crooked, crocodile. Add to this list "Christmas" and you’ve got a seasonal tradition that makes you want to pack your bags for good.
Last year, on Christmas morn, it was the uniformed goons who operate near the Camp Crame U-turn slot along EDSA. With no other traffic in sight, and with my left directional signal clearly indicating where I was heading for a distance of 500 meters, I approached the U-turn slot. Still, as soon as I neared the four blue-shirted bozos, I knew there was to be trouble. Of course, they claimed I had been "swerving" (the current euphemism, I suppose, for "We want your money"). Naturally, I denied doing anything illegal, but they clearly had their own agenda. Under normal circumstances, I might not have stuck around long enough for a debate; my pedal would have been to the metal. But that Christmas I was with my family, in a minivan. Not the ideal vehicle for hot pursuit. I try to act as much like a law-abiding motorist as possible in such situations.
Fortunately, my mother-in-law was there in the back seat to plead for mercy and to "explain" how I didn’t understand local traffic "conventions," and to please let us go in the spirit of Christmas. But first, we had to surrender our bag of sandwiches, which we had brought along to give street kids in lieu of coins on the road to Cavite, as a peace offering.
Things like this truly bug me, and being here 11 years hasn’t quelled my distaste. In my view, cops should not be dispatched to the streets on Christmas Day if their chief goal is to shake down motorists. They’re not assigned to bend the rules or apply them willy-nilly in hopes of a handout.
Okay, I can appreciate that cops are not well paid here and I’m sorry if their Christmas bonus envelopes were a little light this year. But I’m not about to open my wallet to make up the difference.
There have been times in the past when I’d felt I was pulled over erroneously, and did persuade a cop or two of my innocence. This may lead some to say it’s the color of my skin that allowed such clemency. Well, the color of my skin is a double-edged sword, for as much as it may convince some local gendarmes to let me off, it also attracts the worst kind of attention, especially on Christmas Days.
So, this Christmas, en route to Cavite, it was a new scam that almost led to my fleecing. Again traveling with family in a minivan, this time south along Roxas Blvd., we approached a packed intersection near the airport road. Too many cars to see what was what, let alone do anything but file into a lane and wait for the traffic light to turn green. I filed into the second lane from the left, careful not to interfere with any left-turners. I also observed that the white line painted on the road in front of me was clearly double-arrowed, allowing one to turn left, or else proceed straight ahead, depending on your destination.
Sure enough, as soon as the light turned green, cars from several lanes to my right crossed in front of me to go left; I patiently waited to pass through the intersection, and who should appear but three blue-shirted law officers? They flagged me down, but, convinced I had done no wrong (and remembering the previous Christmas experience), I sped on.
Unfortunately, a toll booth was several kilometers ahead, and as I fished around for change, I noticed two brown-shirted, menacing-looking "tollway officers" now blocking my path. One was on a motorcycle. This was apparently "phase two" of the Yuletide sting operation.
That’s when I lost it, by all accounts. I recall stepping out of the vehicle, attempting to reason with the officers IN A REALLY LOUD VOICE. (I don’t recommend this tactic, by the way.) Naturally, they insisted I had been "swerving," when in fact, as I tried to point out, I was simply following the directions on the white line in front of me.
According to their reckoning, the intersection had three (count ’em) designated left lanes, so therefore I had "swerved" – simply by moving straight ahead! It was remarkable pretzel logic, even for a Metro Manila cop. I noted the white line, and the absence of any sign or notice informing motorists that the rules of the road had been recently changed to allow more people to overtake one another on the left. They pooh-poohed this application of logic. No, they conceded, there were no signs. It was just the way traffic rules were being applied… at this particular time.
Apparently, their Christmas duties deputized these brown shirts with special powers to apply traffic laws any way they deemed fit. Granted, I wasn’t helping my case by pacing madly around the minivan (we were parked on the roadside by this point), gesticulating wildly and shouting in ever-shriller registers. But, as I say, I had had ENOUGH.
Two Christmases in a row encountering shakedown artists on the way to Cavite was about my fill. I felt like telling the world, or at least every passing motorist, that we were no longer dealing with law or justice here, but with shortsighted goons trying to fill their pockets on December 25.
Anyway, I vowed not to surrender my license or pay a single centavo. Fortunately, my mother-in-law came to the rescue again, this time not with sandwiches or money, but – I am sure – with tales of my foreign confusion, my mental instability, my complete lack of orientation to Philippine road rules and traditions.
Anyway, it’s one "tradition" I plan to skip next year. After the passengers in the minivan threw a warm blanket over me (in place of a straitjacket) and we proceeded on to Cavite once again, I was informed by my mother-in-law that my driving services would no longer be required on Christmas Days to come.
Which, I have to admit, suits me fine.