It’s all there in the face and demeanor of Erap Estrada.
The fight is gone, the bawdy and malevolent twinkle, the once jutting chin, the roar of simple presidential prose that had his masses crowding the aisles and whooping approval. After that 13-0 High Court avalanche, the pretense was gone Mr. Estrada still had a corner on Malacañang. But what was gone once and for all was the musculature of presidential power he exercised with unabashed romp and revelry. He is a beaten man and he knows it, a pugilist down on the mat and staring vapidly at space.
Erap’s masa also knows it. Or must know it. They are sad, bitter even that their hero should have come to such a pass. But they too know his magic cannot work anymore, because the power base has disappeared. No Malacañang. No freebies. The presidency for him is now an idiot snowman, winking in the wind, with a cigar stuck in its mouth – and nothing else. And so we all wonder what is Joseph Ejercito Estrada going to do next?
He cannot fight anyone. Seeking a reversal of the Court’s 13-0 verdict would be like, as Ninoy Aquino often said, stuffing toothpaste back into the tube or bidding the seas to recede. He knows he has to surrender, or give up the fight, and submit himself to the tender mercies of Ombudsman Aniano Desierto and Sandiganbayan presiding justice Francis Garchitorena. He knows that one day – not far from now – a police squadron will arrest him. And cuff him. This is a humiliation he never imagined would ever beset his charmed political life.
If Erap Estrada had proffered his resignation shortly before Ilocos Sur governor Luis "Chavit" Singson squealed on him, he could have presumably gotten away. Or he could have lapsed into "illness", thereby incapacitating himself for the presidency. And he could have walked. After all, it was only jueteng loot that at the time tarnished his reputation. And he could have sued for some kind of pardon, or negotiated an arrangement enabling him to retain possession of his properties. The nation then could have been in a forgiving mood. And a repentant Estrada, kneeling in tears before Jaime Cardinal Sin, could have gotten absolution.
But as they say, in the famous words of Lord Acton, that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Later events, later disclosures and discoveries, later scandals and scams were to prove – and that’s where the utter shock of it all came in – that the presidential loot was much, much more than Long John Silver ever imagined as he plied the Caribbean in quest of galleons loaded with gold and silver, myrrh, silk and rare incense from the treasure troves of Asia. Oh, my good God, everybody exclaimed, he did nothing but plunder. Plunder. And again plunder. The Boracay mansion was a symbol of that plunder. It had, an Olympic-sized pool sheeted all around with white gleaming sand, and waves if you pushed a button, against a sprawl of presidential luxury fit for all the lords and ladies of Tudor.
And so Estrada sought to remain in power, probably aware that he was living it up like Nero, but not caring at all. And so we are back to Gabriel Garcia Marquez who said: "Lost in the solitude of his immense power, he began to lose direction."
But Erap Estrada possessed the wizardy of voodoo. He had animal magnetism, drew voluptuous women to him like moths to a camp-fire, fired up the yokels as nobody else could fire them. And it was hard, almost impossible, to destroy a politician like him. It took his media critics, particularly those in print, months and months to even slash a small wound on his forearm. He hated his critics in print media, also in television. But he knew instinctively how to get back. He used radio. Radio commentators and broadcasters were more easily seduced. And bought. He avoided English and used Tagalog, the language of the poor and downtrodden and his words came through in the vernacular like balm on fevered head.
He shouldn’t have fought the Church but he did. He shouldn’t have taken on Jaime Cardinal Sin but he did. He shouldn’t have tilted with his critics in media but he did. He shouldn't have taken on the highly educated and English-speaking middle class but he did. He shouldn’t have taken on big business but he did. Why not? Erap Estrada wanted to prove he had a corner on the masa and everybody else could go to hell. With masa at his side, he was invincible.
He could have been right if his hands were not itchy. He could have been the poor man’s Kenneth Tynan writing his epitaph, addressing it to the poor: A l’heure de ma mort, soyez le refuge de mon ame etonnée, et recevez-la dans le sein de Votre misericorde (At the hour of my death, may you be the re-fuge of my astonished soul, and receive it into Your merciful breast). That would have been the perfect ending to this "man of the masses", except that the lyrics went haywire and the melody went wrong.
And that was his undoing. He made too many enemies, something you don’t do in a democracy with a free and unbridled press. Erap Estrada in his last moments in Malacañang was probably thinking of unleashing martial law. But he was no Ferdinand Marcos who at one time could walk on water with his mastery of legal legerdemain. The streets had come alive and Luis "Chavit" Singson exploded his powderkeg. The impeachment trial only hastened his demise. People Power II buried a million daggers on his back. And the Supreme Court turned him over as it would a cadaver with a vote of 13-0.
Now he is helpless and almost all alone. Can he still flee? The hangman cometh and only the voice of Rene Saguisag can be heard – the strand of a busted violin sobbing balderdash in the dusk.
I know of no country where there is a total ban on logging. The loggers are allowed to cut selectively so long as there is replanting and rejuvenation of scarred forest areas. C’mon, Nene, give Sonny a chance. What do you have against him, anyway? The two of you come from the same roots – the political brazier of Ninoy Aquino. Sonny is highly qualified for the job, having taken a leading role internationally in the fight to preserve the environment and natural resources. So what if once upon a time he was against a total ban on logging? People adjust, change their minds, switch roles depending on the circumstances.
It’s sad. For once upon a time you occupied the same political foxholes, fought the dictator, and dared the Fates.