A Fork

I have always believed that while we may have our own grandiose plans for our lives, there is always that “X” factor, wholly uncontrollable, that either puts the proverbial monkey wrench to all the “best laid plans” or sets out a path that was totally not thought of.

What I am saying is, destiny and fate shall always intervene and reminds us that there are things greater than us that determine the course our lives shall take.

I mistakenly thought that winning was a done deal and all that was needed to be worked upon was to set the margin higher to eliminate all possible protests should there be the eventual proclamation. The discontent was palpable and the demand for change was ringing all through out the town. Caucuses showed the hubby had all but the consensus. The greater efforts were towards ensuring that the lead candidate for the top position would be carried by the then apparent wave of popularity my better half enjoyed. The possibility of losing never entered my mind and back up plans of such an eventuality were never made.

But it was not meant to be and my hubby faced his first ever loss in his 12-year political career. The three days after E-day passed like a blur and he had to face scores of supporters and leaders who came one after the other conducting the requisite "post-mortem", the questions of how and where we went wrong. So, like a true leade, after the battle was lost he took on the dificult job of lifting the morale of his defeated troops. Licking his wounds in private had to take a back seat for a while no matter how much he was itching to get away from it all. I watched him take on a very brave front although I knew deep inside he was hurting.

And for that I started hating the world of politics. I saw soon enough how the sacrifices he made did not amount to anything and how service to the people could never be appreciated in a community whose cries for change got lost in a sea of "green", money and money was all that mattered.

I never fit the model of a politician's wife. I was, still am, fiercely protective of my privacy and was uncomfortable letting in strangers of different stripes and colors into the hubby's home and being made to act like each and everyone is my best friend. But I tried my best because notwithstanding my reluctance, I had to be supportive all the way.

Now this loss. Frankly, I do not know how to deal with it and I know the hubby will find it difficult to change careers mid-stream. Yet it is in these difficult times that we also discover the most important things in life, the one constant that remain unaffected by the changing winds fortunes, political or otherwise. in the end, its all that matters.

What It Really Was

As the whole country celebrates the apparent success of the automated 2010 elections, in a small inconspicuos town somewhere in the mountainous portion of the island of Samar, people grieve. For despite all it high tech gadgetry, automation still could not provide a truly honest elections that reflected the people's will, at least in this part of the world where almost 90% live below the poverty line.

A combination of guns, goons and gold conspired to show the loopholes and the leaks where dishonest elections could still come out the norm in a much hailed automated polls. For while no one was looking, 1,500 non-resident and under-age persons managed to have themselves sneaked in as as registered voters of this town with a voting population of 6,500.

Readers of this blog who know my true identity might, to themselves say that these are but gripings of a sour loser but I dare say that while defeat may taste bitter it does not distract from the truth of what really happened on May 10, 2010.

It was the day when masterlist of voters had two versions and jeepney loads of total strangers started filtering in late in the afternoon (so as to afford little time to challenge and contest them) to vote for a slate composed of people they hardly knew and trade in their votes, nay, their souls for a few thousand pesos. They came all the way from Tacloban City and Calbayog City in trucks three days before the elections to provide the captured swing votes for a group of candidates in a town where for all intents and purposes many of the former only knew from a map that such town exists. In a place where everybody knew everybody else, the strangers stuck out like sore thumbs yet by some "magical" stroke of a pen and a computer keyboard, they were now officially "residents" and registered voters of the town.

Considering the massive scale and proportions of this operation "flying vultures", it came as no surprise that preparations and executions of the plan started a full year ahead of the polls. The "magician" knew his tricks well and played them with the deftness of someone who had been in his position for quite sometime betraying the public trust reposed in him to conduct a clean and honest elections.

The stage was set. The machine for registartion and validation started disappearing for days at a time from the office where they were supposed to be and when an election clerk was queried as to the computer's whereabouts, a ready answer was: it was being brought to another place for repairs. A check with a higher electoral office, however, confirmed that no permission was obtained from them which was what the law dictated before such a machine/computer could be moved. It was only after seeing the hordes of non-resident voters that the significance of its (the machine) disappearance came to light. Your guess is as good as mine.

Election employees refused to receive written request for master lists of voters and BEI's (the precinct level set of electoral officers) and candidates from the slate were only given the lists with only a few days left for them to exercise their remedies against the "imported" voters. As if that was not enough, the "magician" came up with two materlists, an incomplete one for the other slate and the other the official list carrying hundreds of names that was missing from the first list given to the candidates. The other side was deprived of notices for ERB hearings (the body that approves registration of voters) and they had to rely on the incomplete voter's list to file exclusions cases in court which proved to be costly for the meagerly-financed other side slate. The highest official of the town himself who was taking another crack at his post was seen personally ferrying voters to the precinct and even grabbed the cellphone of a watcher he suspected of calling someone up to report him.

But most depressing of all were the peole themselves, poor and uneducated folks who sold their votes to the highest bidders. Even familial bonds proved wanting when relatives were faced with the tempting offer of money in amounts that could never be seen in their lifetimes. At times I feel anger at these folks but upon deeper thought I realize they are but victims to machinations of people preying on their biggest vulnerabilities. P3,000.00 could already buy them a supply of rice for the whole year. Shading a few circles on a piece of paper for P5,000.00 was nothing compared to months of toiling in the sun to earn just as much. So it was never a hard choice to make and blood relations be damned.

And so I weep for these poor folks who now must pay for the next three years of a government from hell.