What a week. Nobody knows who turned off the aircon in the Senate. Very mysterious.
Raffy was sweating. Risa, Ping. Kiko was sweating. Lito Lapid was not sweating. Very still. Predators can detect movement.
The WiFi disappeared too. Gone. Internet dead. Powerful people. Minority people. Trying to make laws, wandering around the hall: “Have you tried plugging it out and plugging it in?”
Alan Peter’s majority was absent. Now they are 11. The minority is also 11. Nothing scares a “majority” more than discovering it’s a tie.
Now nobody is accusing anybody. I’m simply saying the aircon appeared to have remarkable instincts: the moment the numbers got dangerous, it resigned. For stability. For continuity. To avoid unnecessary leadership transitions. A true statesman.
Nobody is saying it was Alan Peter. That would be very unfair. If the NBI pulls the mask off the thermostat, we would be shocked if it turned out to be Robin Padilla.
When there’s a leadership fight and something in the building suddenly stops cooperating, people start getting nostalgic.
They remember 2020. They remember the House. The mace. The locked doors. Two Alans, one mic.
Trauma is trauma. Somebody from the Batasan just felt a chill down their spine. And it wasn’t the aircon.
The minority was in the chamber. The majority was in the hallway with Jinggoy. If you’re looking for the quorum, check wherever the Senate President is talking.
Alan Peter was wrestling with Jonvic as to why a senator should not be arrested inside the august halls.
Jonvic: “Sir.” “Sir.” “SIR!!!”
Each “sir” arriving with more horsepower. Alan Peter? Calm. Too calm.
That’s when I became concerned. Because I’ve seen Cayetano in arguments before. We’ve all seen Alan Peter angry before. By the third sir, Zubiri was expecting: “Ano? Ano? Ano?”
But no. Jonvic: “Alan, the last person you put in custody escaped.”
Boom. The room temperature dropped 15 degrees. Which was fortunate because the aircon wasn’t helping.
Robin was standing behind him, you could almost hear it. “Sorry, Alan. You are weak.”
Alan should’ve said: “Interesting. And who was in charge of making sure he didn’t?”
Because, let’s solve this mystery together with Secretary Jonvic. Why is Jonvic always there? Every time?
I’m confused. SILG himself shows up. Personally. In the flesh. For everything. You have so many ranks. So many stars. You have enough brass to start a marching band. Somehow, the final answer is still “Get Jonvic?”
Remember when Nicolas Torre was around? You didn’t have to wonder who the cop was. The cop was impossible to miss.
Now, we keep seeing some uniformed gentleman standing quietly in the background, and only on very rare occasions: “Wait. Is that Junel?”
“Ju-neelll.”
The Philippines has a remarkable talent. We identify the competent person. Then immediately ask if there are more available.
Take JV. Senator Ejercito. Said he was sad for his brother Jinggoy.
Of course. Imagine spending years becoming known as “The Good One.”
Not the taller one. The older one. Not the handsome one.
Then the country looked at two brothers, identified The Good One, and then elected both. It’s like ordering salad and a cigarette. And people complain about the quality of the Senate?
You already found The Good One. Then immediately asked if it came in another color. And now you’re comparing Jinggoy to Ninoy.
Ninoy!
That’s a very serious allegation against Ninoy.