Clowning around

EUGENIO ("Udong") Mahusay Jr. should be made the lead character in TV soap, or be used as a great case study for understanding Philippine society and culture. Let's look at his story.

A wall runs around the perimeter of the plush La Vista subdivision in Quezon City, dividing the rich and the poor. On one side live the Arroyos and, apparently just over their side of the wall, is the community where the Mahusays live.

One fateful day, the Arroyos invite the Mahusays over to play basketball, the beginning of a friendship. The class divisions in the Philippines can be formidable, yet there are cracks in the fence that make it easy to cross the divisions, given certain circumstances and subject to certain limitations.

Basketball seems to be one such social leveler, but, like cockfighting, the effects are transient. In fact, I sometimes suspect the elite use these activities to project a more down-to-earth image. Politicians are notorious for visiting cockpits on Sundays to indulge in their own favorite vice as well as to show the gods can descend to the level of the mortals and mix with the masses. At day's end, after basketball or cockfighting, people return to their homes, taking their usual places on opposite sides of the fence.

In the case of the Mahusays, a next step is taken: Arroyo gives the Mahusays jobs. Note how employment in the Philippines is often obtained through connections and, therefore, carries obligations of gratitude to be paid back. You owe the person who gives you a job.

As the employee stays longer, showing loyalty, the employer may become very trusting and begin to assign more and more work, including very sensitive responsibilities. I know one wealthy woman who trusts her housekeeper with her ATM cards, complete with pin numbers so the housekeeper can be sent off to deposit and withdraw money.

The bonds of loyalty are further reinforced when the employer, as happened to Mike Arroyo, becomes "ninong" (wedding sponsor -- "godfather" under Philippine custom) or "ninang" ("godmother") to the employee. Mike Arroyo was principal sponsor at Udong's wedding, but it doesn't quite matter what sacrament is involved. Easily, Mike Arroyo could have become godfather at the baptism of one of Udong's children, in which case he would have become a "compadre" (loose translation: co-parent).

Among equals, the ninong/ninang or compadre/comadre relationships deepen the ties, building reciprocal obligations close to the original intention of Christianity: the child's ninong or ninang promises to care for the child if something happens to the biological parent.

These days, we know the ninong/ninang and compadre/comadre institutions have become totally corrupted, used to build connections for business or political reasons. Priests explain to me that they allow only one or two pairs of ninong and ninang to be listed on the baptismal or wedding certificate. But they have to turn a blind eye to the invitations to the baptism or wedding that list, literally, dozens of sponsors. The record number I've heard so far is 78 sponsors for a baptism.

Politicians know that the ninong/ninang role brings votes. Again, like the visits to the cockfights, consenting to become ninong or ninang softens the more authoritarian feudal relationship. What better way would there be for the gods to become human than by becoming ritual kin? Former president Joseph Estrada was notorious in this regard, with so many godchildren that they eventually formed an NGO of their own. I can't remember anymore how many members there were but one of their leaders claimed the numbers reached the thousands.

People will actually vote for a candidate because of some imputed relationship in a terribly expanded network of ritual kinship: Let's vote for so-and-so because he's the ninong of the neighbor of my mother's cousin's friend. People will go on to praise the politician as "mabait" (kind), his becoming a ninong, and doling out a bag of free groceries every Christmas, cited as irrefutable proof that he will make a good mayor, governor or even president.

These networks are of course terribly flawed. On very shaky foundations, feudalism sets the bar too high in terms of obligations. In a patron-client relationship, the powerful one expects unrequited loyalty, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, from the client.

On the part of the client, there are expectations, too. They know, as well, that all they get is the loose change and begin to resent the demands. Tensions rise when one begins to mistrust the other. Udong Mahusay has claimed he had a grudge against Mike Arroyo when he took sides with Vicky Toh, who had accused Udong of stealing a cellular phone.

Who knows what happened afterwards to Udong after he left disgruntled? Feudal values do not work very well in a world that has become capitalist, loyalty becoming a commodity, available to the highest bidder. Those close to the gods realize the possibilities of becoming gods themselves.

In the case of the Philippines, the plots remain complicated because when all's said and done, we're still in the Dark Ages, retaining the worst of feudalism even with all the trappings of a modern market economy. Only in the Philippines where one can find a public that would just shrug their shoulders after Udong, then in the custody (or protection) of Ping Lacson, was rescued (or abducted) by two presidential helicopters and a Cabinet member. Again, who knows what went through Udong's mind as he was spirited off in the helicopter.

I suspect that like the mythical Icarus, Udong realized he had flown too close to the sun, his feathers now withering and him ready to plunge into the sea. Should we be surprised then that Udong should emerge born-again, repentant, recanting his affidavit against his ninong, and begging forgiveness, even while admitting to having a grudge against the ninong?

Senator Robert Jaworski, after listening to Udong Mahusay's testimony, angrily called Udong a clown and called for punishments against people like him. Clearly, there were memories in those august chambers of the "exposes" of an earlier clown, Ador Mawanay.

Our feudal lords have turned smug and complacent, thinking they've fooled the masses with their patronage. But one wonders. Mawanay and Mahusay are the failed clowns. There are others, more successful, who have clowned their way into power, serving local and foreign masters by playing to our conceits, puffing up our egos with their "Yes, Sir" and "Sorry, Ma'am." We find the clowns entertaining, unaware that perhaps we are a nation run and ruined by clowns.

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