'Artista'

A MOVIE star is spotted in a mall and word spreads. "Artista!" somebody screams and an excited crowd builds up quickly around the celebrity.

In another context, we exclaim "Artista!" tongue-in-cheek when a close friend or relative hams it up. We pretend to protest but it's all taken in good fun.

On still other occasions, we may say "Artista!" in disgust -- even anger -- at someone who's obviously trying to deceive us.

In the last week, "artista" has figured prominently in many of our conversations about politics. I leave it to you to recall how we've said, "Artista," watching the President, and a real-live artista, Susan Roces, as she is now pitted against Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

Yet, I feel all this artista talk isn't just about our fixation over celebrities; rather it speaks of our world view, wise in its own way in recognizing that life is a stage, and that we are all artists in performance.

Political performance

Performance is at a premium with politics. What comes to our minds immediately is Ferdinand Marcos. Even those of us who opposed his dictatorship accept that, recognizing with a bit of grudging admiration, that nearly all of his speeches were oratorical feats. Of course, Marcos often used demagoguery, a master at projecting himself as the nation's Apo, a benevolent patron who cared, and yet who was ready to strike you down if you dared dissent.

When Marcos called for snap elections, he found himself facing a housewife and widow, Cory Aquino. Macho that he was, Marcos occasionally questioned Tita Cory's ability to govern on the basis of gender. But it was also that machismo that prevented him from pulling all stops to attack her. What he did was to field Imelda Marcos, against Cory.

Imelda had years of experience in performance, literally singing and dancing to capture votes. Every step she took, every word she uttered, was performance. She was a master at code-switching, shifting from English to Tagalog, depending on her audience. She knew that even with the masses, she could get away with speaking in English because it bolstered her claims to being of the upper class. Imelda knew her tone of voice was as important as language, the one projecting her as an affectionate doting mother at one moment and a naughty coquette at the next.

Cory on the other hand was a political neophyte. She was bland, her voice almost a monotone, and her halting Tagalog gave away her all too bourgeois class origins. She didn't sing or dance. Neither did she use the image of the grieving widow or the underdog. In fact, in retrospect, it was her "under-performing" that highlighted the contrasts between what she stood for, set against the empty glitter and rhetoric of Ferdinand and Imelda. Voting for Cory was a way too of saying that we could no longer afford their brand of showbiz politics.

Battle of women

Twenty years later, we again see two women pitted against each other. What makes this new battle so interesting is that one of the protagonists, Susan Roces, is, literally, an artista. This part of her persona is actually a liability because the country is to some extent leery of movie star politicians.

Yet, even the most staid of political commentators are sitting up and taking notice, fascinated by Susan Roces' political artistry. In December, she was the grieving widow seeking restitution; a few weeks ago, when "Gloriagate" first exploded, she was like a cautious mother calling for prudence and sobriety. Last Wednesday, we saw the furious widow as well as a fuming grandmother, concerned about what the political situation was doing to young Filipinos.

A few years ago, Susan Roces in public would elicit a fan's version of "Artista!" Today, we quietly think, "Artista!" in a positive way: "Wow, she performs!"

Susan Roces' press conference was, well, entertaining as performances should, but I was also amazed at how she could rouse people without resorting to demagoguery. She draws frequently on Filipino colloquialisms and proverbs, in one instance effectively conveying her disdain for the President: "Ang sinungaling ay kapatid ng magnanakaw [The liar is brother to the thief]."

Look too at how she deftly shuttled between Tagalog and English in an interview after the press conference, in reference to the President: "What she has is 'tapang ng apog,' not courage, she can lie through her teeth." "Tapang ng apog" [audacity; shamelessness] was all that was needed with the masses, terse and to the point. The longer English explanation was oriented to our more clueless upper classes, who still wonder if perhaps Gloria Arroyo is just an innocent hapless victim of circumstances.

In the eyes

Could it be that we just have a President who doesn't want to stoop down to perform like an artista? I'd argue that our problems come about because, precisely, this is a President who thinks too highly of herself, who thinks she is a good political performer. Like ham actors and bad karaoke singers, politicians like the President inflict greater suffering because they try too hard.

Remember again, Cory Aquino was bland and bourgeois, but left office with dignity and remains a senior political adviser to the nation. Gloria Arroyo's weakness is that she can't, or maybe doesn't want, to relate to the nation -- "manhid" [insensitive] in Susan Roces' words. It's not surprising the President's televised act of contrition was mostly in English, which meant the majority of Filipinos never got her message. Try translating "lapse of judgment" into Filipino.

She had another lapse of judgment "exiling" her husband and son and droning away, "My family is called to sacrifice our personal happiness..." Oh, Tita, my heart bleeds, knowing how harsh life can be in America or Hong Kong. And Susan Roces' reaction? "Hindi ko alam kung ano ang kasaysayan ng kanilang pagmamahalan [I do not know the history of their love]."

I will repeat it's not just a matter of language. Tita Cory often spoke in monotonous English, but she made up for that by projecting sensibility, sensitivity... and more.

For all the metaphors of theater we use to describe our lives, our politics, ultimately it's not melodramatic scripts that count. We actually judge the quality of the performance (and, by extension, of life) by the sincerity of its delivery.

Frankly, I think Susan Roces would be more powerful putting her practical homegrown wisdom to use as a matriarch of an adviser, rather than as a politician. I think of the way she explained her rejection of the presidential apology, a simple one-liner that answers a question we've all been asking ourselves as we've plodded along with the Arroyo presidency: "It's in the eyes."

Susan Roces, the artista, knows.