After two years of working in Southern Tagalog and Metro Manila, a mother of three returned to her home village in Leyte last week for a vacation.
The return was postponed several times because the woman’s relatives told her there wasn’t much to eat in their village in the aftermath of Super Typhoon Yolanda.
Shortly after the typhoon struck, the woman sent relief goods by “door-to-door” shuttle to her family: rice, instant noodles, canned goods, even bottled water. The “door-to-door” service, originally Pinoy slang for sending balikbayan boxes from the US, drops off passengers right at or near their doorstep. It’s a long, uncomfortable ride in a cramped jeepney, but it’s common in many parts of the country.
In the past months, the woman had been filling two balikbayan-size boxes with gifts or pasalubong for her homecoming, buying stuff from flea markets or tiangge and bargain-hunting at SM malls. As the date of her return neared, there was a spike in text messages and phone calls from home for last-minute purchases.
With the two large boxes and a colorful suitcase (the easier to identify in a pile) stuffed to bursting, the woman set off at the crack of dawn last week for the bus terminal in Cubao, Quezon City. The bus drove to the Batangas port, where a roll-on, roll-off (RORO) ship pushed off at 1 p.m. for Leyte.
There were a lot of reminders for the woman to stay near life vests on the RORO and hold on to an umbrella or something she could use to strike a hungry shark on the nose, just in case… but she arrived, weary but safe, the next day in Leyte.
From the town of Tolosa, her village is a drive of two to three hours (depending on the condition of the jeepney). It was a grueling trip, but the homecoming was worth it.
Apart from the joy of reuniting with her children and fisherman-husband, the woman said villagers treated her like someone returning from abroad laden with gifts. She was the village star, the woman texted friends in Manila. In a community where TV sets are rare, children crowded her modest house the whole day to watch cartoon movies on her portable DVD player.
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Such scenes are common throughout the country. They can give you an idea of why popularity and the entertainment industry play such a crucial role in Philippine politics and governance.
The village welcome for the woman also shows how Pinoys treat people who share their blessings. It is said that to whom much is given, much is also expected. Those with the most to share – and who are generous with their gifts – are looked up to as community leaders. In our culture, the most successful politicians have perfected the art of sharing.
In communities where people live a hand-to-mouth existence or just slightly better, patronage politics works with great efficiency in building a power base. In such communities, people look for a patron to rely on in moments of need – not just for “KBL” or kasal, binyag, libing (weddings, baptisms and funerals), but also for medical treatment, school fees, house repairs, food, and even to get rid of a hex or kulam.
The demands of day-to-day survival can leave little room for contemplating where the dole-outs come from. This is how political dynasties built on corruption manage to flourish. Come election time, what matters is how dependable candidates are perceived to be in the voter’s moments of need.
This culture of dependence on a patron is reinforced by the Catholic tradition of having godparents at baptisms, weddings and confirmation ceremonies, wherein the ninongs and ninangs (numbering up to 20 pairs at weddings) often end up bankrolling the entire party. The godparent tradition is a heavy influence on appointments and promotions in government.
Given better alternatives, Pinoy voters go for candidates who are perceived to be competent and clean. But Philippine politics is so dirty the choice often boils down to which candidate is the lesser evil – and often it’s the one who knows how to share.
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Steady, meaningful jobs, created through manufacturing, agribusiness, tourism and other employment-generating enterprises should empower people to pay for their own necessities and wean themselves away from patrons.
But politicians understand the power of utang na loob or debt of gratitude in this society, and many actively cultivate public dependence on their largesse.
Instead of making their communities business-friendly to create meaningful jobs, local politicians can lock out any enterprise that competes with those run by their relatives and cronies.
These are the local leaders who encourage squatter settlements. In areas lacking public education facilities, these are the local leaders who think developing intelligent constituents with leadership potential who might one day challenge the dynasty is a bad idea.
As the woman from Leyte is showing, Filipinos are prepared to work hard and be self-sufficient to give their families a better life. What Pinoys need are more employment and livelihood opportunities, preferably right in their own communities.
In the absence of such opportunities, they look elsewhere, even if it means leaving their loved ones behind for long periods.
It’s the story of the Philippine diaspora.