One is tempted to fall into the holier-than-thou trap laid out by Opus Dei hardliner Francisco Tatad, who ostensibly is appalled by the brazen dynastic tendencies being exhibited by the opposition.
That is, until one remember his roots. To those who do not know, and to those who may have forgotten, Kit Tatad was the information minister of Marcos during martial law and it had been his primary duty to dress up the dictatorship in soft linen.
Still, what Tatad says is true. There is a creeping dynastic tendency gripping the Senate and it is being pursued relentlessly by those involved. Saint Peter Cayetano the Faultless is invoking moral and constitutional mumbo-jumbo to defend his desire to sit beside Pia, his sister.
Nene Pimentel, who presided over the impeachment trial of Joseph Estrada for plunder, now finds comfort in the company he keeps, that is, with the Estrada coterie itself. So comfy in fact that he closes his eyes and says nothing to his son joining him, as a colleague in the chamber.
Of course there is Jinggoy Estrada and his half-brother who also wants to be a member of this discredited Senate. But oh well, if there is anyone people could hardly blame for doing the things they do, it is these brothers. They cannot help it. It is in the genes.
There is one other, he of the dynasty of another kind. The Boy Scout who does not act like one, King Jejomar Binay of Makati, whose doctrine of resistance to lawful order and authority has since been put to good use elsewhere and will someday be the rule of thumb in this country.
Over at the other side, the administration is reportedly considering the likes of Tito Sotto, Tessie Oreta and Imelda Marcos. Reputed to have it already in the bag is Chavit Singson. As the late Max Soliven would say - susmaryosep.
Sotto is one of the original balimbings. While in showbiz, he was cozy with the greatest entertainers of all time, the Marcoses. At Edsa, he helped compose and sing a freedom song. For a while he waltzed with Gloria, sidled up to Fernando, and is now back sneezing at Gloria's door.
Oreta. Wow. Who can ever forget this woman. If there was ever a single defining bizarre moment during the aborted impeachment trial of Estrada, it was the jig of Oreta. Even Ninoy must have stirred in cold repugnance.
Imelda oh Imelda. You who only did what you did for love and beauty. How people wish they could simplify life the way you did. You flit and you float, a butterfly of global fancy, seeking that which saves and consoles, be it the raw-edged knife of inevitability.
And yet there are many others, sniffing out the sweetest sugar. Loren Legarda, the sorrowful non-virgin at the impeachment trial. Crying with Nene, she went with Nene. To the camp of he who now talks to ducks.
If this is turning out to be a rambling and senseless piece, it is because one tends to be obfuscated by the madness of Philippine politics. No finger stands lengthy and unmoving on the dot where it is signified. All definition fails when logic surrenders.
Even the Liberals and the Nacionalistas, try as they might at being coy and cute, can never hope to sell integrity by mere words alone. They have to live it and be defined by it. But if Filipinos continue to jump ship, that means the definition got lost in the translation.