Frontline workers

We have the longest Christmas season in the world, starting in September – “the ’ber months.”

Of course this is commercially driven; for businessmen, it’s never too early to stimulate our consumption-driven economy with the Christmas spirit. But the commercial aspect won’t succeed if it didn’t tap into a genuine Pinoy fondness for the festive season and everything it stands for: family togetherness, good cheer, sumptuous food.

That’s in celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, but deaths can also be a festive occasion in this country. We hold the longest wakes in the world, sometimes lasting up to two weeks. And it’s not just because we genuinely find parting to be such sweet sorrow (to plagiarize a line from the Bard) and want to keep looking at our dearly departed until the formalin seeps out of their remains and they start resembling zombies.

Wakes can be a money-making scheme in these islands. Cadavers that are not claimed in morgues after a certain period are either sold to medical schools or rented out to enterprising individuals, who then set up a wake in the neighborhood where illegal numbers games, typically sakla, are then played.

This happens even in Metro Manila, with the wakes occupying portions of narrow streets in depressed communities. Pinoy forbearance runs deep for activities held by the bereaved, even if they inconvenience the public, so the illegal gambling is not touched.

Such activities cannot happen without the knowledge of barangay officials. It won’t be surprising if barangay personnel themselves are the ones operating the fake wake.

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The barangay is the smallest unit of government. Within this small jurisdiction, barangay officials are supposed to have some idea of the identities of most of the residents, and which are the areas that are off-limits to human settlement.

Slum colonies cannot mushroom without the knowledge of barangay officials, who are tasked by law to prevent squatting. The government has promised to investigate professional squatters and their coddlers. Some of these coddlers could turn out to be barangay officials. Rent is collected on shanties, and some of the landlords can be barangay officials themselves.

Efficient village officials alert the proper authorities on uncollected garbage, busted street lights (which can encourage crime), stray dogs, busted water pipes and fire hazards.

Village officials are also tasked to assist the police in maintaining peace and order – an important mandate, considering that the number of cops has failed to keep up with rapid population growth in the past two decades.

Barangay officials are the ones we’re supposed to turn to when there’s someone drunk or high on drugs creating trouble in the neighborhood. Village officials are also tasked to act as arbiters in minor quarrels. They are required to assist women complaining of physical abuse, harassment or other violations of the law on violence against women and children. 

Village officials are supposed to be on the lookout for suspicious activity, such as houses behind high fences that might be used as manufacturing laboratories for shabu.

As in that so-called one-stop shop or tiangge for prohibited drugs in Pasig, however, some barangay officials are themselves involved in criminal activities. In areas where illegal gambling flourishes, it is rare that barangay officials are not in on the action.

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In addition to enjoying protection for illegal activities, certain barangay officials get to handle piles of cash during elections. They are soldiers in the frontlines, wooing supporters for politicians, directly dispensing patronage and buying votes during campaigns.

In the bigger districts, the cash for distribution could run into millions. There’s no surefire way for politicians to determine if their barangay bagman actually distributed the money to the intended beneficiaries. The only proof (and this isn’t even certain if the candidate is popular enough) is election victory. So a bagman can accumulate a tidy sum for himself.

Barangay support for a particular politician is often genuine. The blessings of election victory are shared with supporters so barangay officials have a personal stake in seeing their candidates win. Any cash skimmed from campaign funds is a bonus.

The cut in campaign funds can make the work worthwhile for a job that pays P23,000 a month for the barangay chairman and P17,000 for council members.

Barangay officials also handle public funds, with their appropriation depending on the size of the local government’s revenue earnings.

This year, the total Internal Revenue Allotment for all the 42,028 barangays is nearly P59.2 billion. In Metro Manila, each of the 1,706 barangays will get over P5.2 million in IRA. Barangay officials have full discretion on the use of the funds.

You can see why candidates in the barangay and Sangguniang Kabataan elections will do everything to win, including padding the voter’s list. This is one of the angles being explored by the Commission on Elections for that strange deluge of “new” registrants for the barangay and SK polls in October.

Malacañang is reportedly studying proposals to abolish the SK, which critics see as an unnecessary drain on public coffers. Youth council members learn early to be as useless as many of our party-list representatives.

The government should also review the barangay system. This one cannot be abolished easily. But it can be made to serve its purpose better.

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HIT-AND-RUN: A motorcycle rider was sideswiped by an AUV before 3 p.m. yesterday at the corner of Roxas Boulevard and P. Gil street. The AUV did not stop. In case the motorcycle rider or cops are interested, it was a maroon Mitsubishi Adventure with license plates XHU 301. The accident left a dent with scratches on the AUV’s rear left side.