Inside the smoke screen
Gunshots in the Senate? Marines storming hallways? Lights suddenly going out? Journalists blocked from certain floors?
If this were a Netflix thriller, viewers would complain the plot was too unrealistic. But this happened inside the Philippine Senate.
The most disturbing part is the public may have been manipulated in real time.
Authorities insist there was no operation to arrest Senator Ronald de la Rosa despite hours of speculation, lockdowns, armed personnel and chaos inside one of the country’s most secure institutions. So what exactly triggered the panic?
Was the incident genuine, or was it theater?
Because if there was to be no arrest, why did the Senate suddenly resemble a war zone?
We deserve more than vague explanations and carefully worded denials. This is the Senate, not a backstage production set where smoke and confusion can conveniently distract everyone.
Whether one supports or opposes Bato is irrelevant. What matters is that when incidents look staged, public trust is the real casualty.
We have not yet recovered from other issues, such as the grievous flood control corruption scandal and yet more abominations continue to emerge.
This is unacceptable.
— Jason Mago
Bad boy, crybaby
The action star, the bad boy, the heartthrob — the ex-convict turned senator — was holding court in the Senate plenary, firing away about the arrest of Bato dela Rosa, voice swelling, chest out.
Then Kiko Pangilinan interrupted him right back.
Padilla had been cutting into Pangilinan’s speech — repeatedly, relentlessly — and when Pangilinan finally had had enough, he raised his voice, “I still have the floor!”
And Robin Padilla — the baddest man in Philippine cinema, the man who went to prison and walked out still standing — crumbled.
He refused Pangilinan’s outstretched hand during the suspension. He announced to the plenary that he was filing an ethics complaint. He told reporters he wasn’t used to being shouted at.
Meanwhile, Pangilinan didn’t flinch. “Go ahead,” he said. “File it.”
Senator, you weren’t shouted at. You were corrected.
The bad boy, ladies and gentlemen.
Iyakin.
— Carl Magadia
Scram!
Inday impeached. Tito ousted. Bato surfaces in the Senate. Alan Peter takes over the chamber presidency. All in one day. Every move calculated — some offensive, some defensive — all part of a larger political chess game.
The Senate resorts to delay tactics, protecting Bato from the ICC. Robin Padilla throws a hissy fit after Kiko Pangilinan “shouted” at him. The Senate has lost its dignity. What was once regarded as a sacrosanct body has become a theater of petty political rivalry, bruised egos and partisan spectacle.
Bato dela Rosa — a proud cavalier who once marched on the prestigious grounds of the Philippine Military Academy — has become the center of a national fiasco. Because of his seeking refuge in the Senate, a dignified institution was reduced to chaos, a palace of absurdity and shamelessness.
Gunfire erupted in the Senate hallways once walked by some of the brightest minds in the country. Think about that.
All this happened on just the second night of Cayetano’s leadership, simply because he allowed the chamber to become a place of asylum for Bato.
While all this was happening, the public continued to drown. Hospitals are overcrowded. Families cannot afford three meals a day. Literacy rates remain low. Inflation continues to crush ordinary Filipinos.
What dominates the national discourse? How Bato entered the Senate. Whose vehicle did he ride in. How he stumbled down the stairs. Him singing the PMA hymn.
Instead of concrete action to hold accountable those responsible for failed flood control projects, we see politicians livestreaming themselves, reassuring supporters that they are safe amid the chaos. Instead of hearing actual government plans for farmers suffering through El Niño, we are once again surrounded by murmurs of a Cabinet reshuffle.
I believe the public has a voice, power, and agency. Yet this idea still lingers: government officials are the main characters, while we, the public, are merely spectators up in the bleachers — an audience deciding whom to clap for and whom to boo.
Hence, we must continue to resist.
Bato has left the Senate, escaping accountability and abandoning the very pillars — courage, integrity, loyalty — of the institution he claims to love most.
If he truly believes himself to be an honorable man, then he must leave the country, stand in The Hague beside the man he pledged loyalty to, and let the trial decide his fate.
SCCRRAAAAAAAAAAAM!
— Vivienne Angeles